


Aphelion

by Adoxography



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Illustrated, M/M, Mecha Pilot!Snake, PTSD, Slow Burn, giant robot au, interplanetary war, terrorist organization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:11:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6746212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adoxography/pseuds/Adoxography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years ago Solid Snake unofficially retired after his last battle with Big Boss on the surface of Charon. Still haunted by the memories he lives off the grid until he is kidnapped by his old employers, the Earth Alliance Military. They want him back to once again face off against the terrorist group the United Federation of Planets, and the remnants of his old unit, Foxhound. His mission, to retrieve the genius engineer, Hal Emmerich, and his latest creation, Metal Gear REX.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One: Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to the Giant Robot (cough*Gundam*cough) AU that no one asked for or wanted. This thing is turning into a monster, I've got about 11 chapters drafted already and a full summary and additional scenes written. I figured posting it would force me to work on it more regularly. I'm expecting it to end up about 25-30 chapters in total, sorry. Fair warning this fic is super slow burn and really plot focused so I'm really sorry! I promise I didn't add that relationship tag just to jerk you guys around! 
> 
> Tags are a work in progress, I'll update them as the story progresses, there are like 1000 characters in this. 
> 
> Any Illustrations in this story are by me. 
> 
> Special thanks to shellandbone who is doing the real work and slogging through my drafts to beat this thing into shape. Check out her fic if you like Babylon 5 and space grandpas getting it on. 
> 
> Shout out to all the nice folks on tumblr who were sending me title suggestions. Feel free to come and chat me up on my blogs, I have like five.

In hindsight, Snake doubted he'd successfully hidden from the EAM. More likely they hadn't needed him enough to be worth the hassle of bringing him in. To his credit, he made it a hell of a job. He'd been midway through his second drink of the day, armed only with his tablet and a folding chair, and had still managed to take out over half the soldiers, many of whom were currently glaring at him and nursing broken limbs. The fact he'd managed this feat wearing only a pair of boxer briefs did nothing but add insult to injury.

A few seats down from him a young woman sat with her hands on her lap, staring straight ahead. Her long dark hair was pushed back over her shoulders, her eyes closed but her body alert. She looked as if she was meditating. A small metal briefcase was tucked on the floor behind her legs. After a brief glance he paid her no more mind.

The shuttle was freezing, even with the thermal blanket they had wrapped around his shoulders. He had not been allowed to dress, just in case he had weapons stashed in his clothing. They would have been correct, however, it had been worth the try. With his hands cuffed to his seat, he was unable to adjust the blanket as it slipped from his shoulders, nor could he pull it tighter around himself. The metal bench did nothing to improve the situation and his balls felt like they were trying ascend back inside him.

He shouldn't even be here. He was retired. Though his retirement had been unofficial, he had assumed it was at least respected -- he had gone five years without hearing a single word from the EAM or EI.

“What did you do with my dogs?” Snake demanded. His former commanding officer sat on the bench across from him, elbows on his knees. He looked exhausted. Under any other circumstance Snake may have had a shred of sympathy. As it was, kidnapping had done nothing for his mood.

“They've been transferred to an EAM facility, there's a veterinarian there who will look after them.” Campbell frowned. “We're not monsters, Snake.” Snake did not dignify that with a response. Campbell sighed, leaning in closer, “I know what the last mission did to you, we wouldn't have done this unless--”

“You needed me?” He was exactly as bitter as he let himself sound. “Right, there's always something, isn't there? I'd like to go back to my retirement, Commander, so tell me what you need from me.” His attempts to chase away the previous night's hangover with more alcohol were starting to backfire and he felt nausea swell in his stomach.

“Actually it's Colonel now,” Campbell corrected, “I was promoted after the... Charon incident.”

“Colonel? You’re ground force now?” Snake responded, unable to contain his surprise. “I have a wife now, Earth Ground Force suits me fine, keeps me on Planet… usually.”

“I see.” To his relief, that was the end of the conversation. Campbell fumbled in his jacket, pulling out a pack of honest to god cigarettes, not that electronic crap that passed for a decent smoke nowadays. He extended the pack to Snake, gesturing to one of the uninjured soldiers to release his hands. As soon as the handcuffs were off, Snake reached forward and popped the cigarette in his mouth. Filtered, but even unlit, the taste was familiar. Somewhat comforting. He rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had chafed.

The Colonel leaned forward again, electronic cigarette lighter in hand. Snake moved in, savoring the acrid smoke as it burned the back of his throat. “Recycled air and you're still going to let me smoke this in here?” The Colonel shrugged, his mouth twitching into a smile. “I thought these were illegal most places. Where did you even get them?” 

“There are benefits to command,” the Colonel replied, the smile not leaving his lips but never reaching his eyes.  
  
  
  


“I'm feeling a little like a condemned man getting his last supper. What's this all about?” He took another long drag, tapping the ash onto the floor. Several of the soldiers glared at him with wrinkled noses. The Colonel pulled a tablet out from the bag at his feet. Tapping it, he pulled up an aerial photograph of what looked like a series of concrete and steel buildings. The surface area surrounding the buildings was filled with craters and piles of rock. The reflective sheen in a segment of the photograph suggested the area around the buildings was oxygenated, and he could see the generators around the building that maintained the oxygen field.

Snake studied the photograph, but he couldn't place the geography. Likely a small moon, but which one, he couldn't be sure. He handed it back, nodding.

“What happened?”

“Foxhound, or at least the remnants of it. They're calling themselves the Sons of Big Boss.” Snake's blood ran cold. A familiar tightness crept into his chest. Suddenly the air felt too thin. He took another deep drag of his cigarette.

“Foxhound disbanded after the Charon incident.” His voice did not betray his unease, and for that he was grateful. Campbell shook his head.

“By the Earth Alliance Military, yes. It didn't stop them from joining up with the UFP.” Snake's cigarette was little more than a filter. He put it out on the seat beside him, tossing the butt onto the floor. “They're little more than a terrorist group now, but then again, the United Federation of Planets is made up of thugs and rebels. They're a perfect match.”

Snake pulled the thermal blanket tight over his shoulders. He felt cold again. His fingers gripped the edges of the foil tighter than necessary. “You ever think UFP might have a point?”

“That's not for people like us to decide,” Campbell responded. “Leave that to the politicians.” Snake rolled his shoulders, shifting in his seat.

“So this is a UFP base?” With a flick of his wrist, Campbell opened another series of photographs. He handed the tablet back to Snake, who frowned at what looked like a close-up of a blueprint. He zoomed out and his eyes widened.

“It is,” the Colonel finally responded, “and these are your targets.”

“Metal Gear...” said Snake, more to himself than to Campbell. “But I've never seen anything like these, these designs.” He pointed to the screen, leaning forward to the Colonel could see what he was gesturing to. “The cockpit is too low and too big, and where is the power source being stored? The design is too compact.” He rapidly flicked through the next few images, more blueprints, marveling at each one. It couldn't possibly be real, the speed and agility it could achieve without the bulky power cells. Realization dawned on him.

“I thought they outlawed the old power source as 'inhumane'.”

The Colonel cast his eyes downwards, his mouth pursed. “Desperate times, Snake. We're in the middle of a war. If we don't want things to get bloodier, we have to make a few sacrifices.” His face twisted unhappily. “President Sears made a speech alluding to it, I'm surprised you missed it.”

“President who?” 

“Never mind.” Campbell shook his head. He flipped to the last image in the gallery, a photograph of a young man. He looked as if he could have hardly finished his first year of college, however the pin on his coat read 'Dr. Emmerich'. The name was familiar, but he couldn't place it. His blue eyes stared at the camera similar to a deer caught in the headlights, his messy brown hair peeking out from behind his ears. His face was thin and covered in sparse stubble, and his lab coat was too big for him and bunched around his shoulders.

“Who's this?” He looked too young to possibly have any connection to this, any importance, though his age was hard to place. His bright, wide eyes said one thing, while the bags and thin creases under them told another story.

“Dr. Hal Emmerich, your second target.” Campbell retrieved the tablet. “You are to get him back alive. He is of vital importance.”

“My first being that Metal Gear.” Snake leaned back, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Just how important? He hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school.”

“I'll admit, it's a bad photograph, though he is fairly young -- twenty five -- and a prodigy. Would you believe he has two doctorates?”

Snake shook his head. “His name sounds familiar, but that can't be. He's too young and I've been cut off for too long.”

“His father developed the first working models for Metal Gear.” Snake's eyebrows shot up. “He personally developed the last two models you interacted with about a year before his untimely death.”

“So his son has taken up the mantle, then,” said Snake, making the connection between the awkward photograph and the blueprints.

“And he's done quite admirably for someone so young. Like I said, the kid's a prodigy.” 

Snake grimaced. “Let me guess, he's the only one who knows how to start up the new Metal Gear?”

Campbell nodded. “Your mission is to retrieve Dr. Emmerich and Metal Gear REX in one piece and fly them both back to a prearranged rendezvous point.”

“Retrieve?”

“Emmerich is actually one of ours, he's been missing for several months now. We discovered he had been taken to this base and has been forced to work on developing new technology for the UFP. All our previous rescue attempts have failed. We need to get him and Metal Gear REX out of their hands before it's too late.” The Colonel sighed deeply. “God only knows what they've done to him.”

“You almost sound concerned.” Snake meant for it to sound bitter, and by the way the Colonel jerked up, it stung like he intended.

“You know we only follow orders,” Campbell's eyes narrowed, “however, I have met the man and have no desire to see him injured. The plans he's using were ones we developed and tested back at our own EAM facilities. We were about to go ahead and build it before he and the finalized plans were stolen.” 

Snake had heard enough, their incompetence was costing him his retirement. “And where exactly am I going?”

“UFP Base, Codename 'Shadow Moses' on the far side of Galatea _.  _ We'll be there in twenty minutes. You'll have to do a space jump.”

Movement in his peripheral vision. The young woman he'd noticed when he first sat down had opened her eyes and was rummaging through her metal briefcase. She pulled out a long metal cylinder, it looked like one of the combat grade hypos he was used to. The needle itself was a millimeter in diameter and his eyes narrowed, knowing exactly what it was for.

“Is this really necessary, as long as I keep my headset on--”

“You've been out of the field for a while,” the woman interrupted. “These are new, top of the line... you'll understand once you experience them firsthand.”

She stood to approach him, needle in hand. Snake was on his feet in an instant, hands curled into fists. “I wouldn't come near me with that thing if I were you,” he growled. For a moment, the hum of every blaster in the cabin charging was the only sound. The woman raised her hands over her head, a small smile playing across her lips. She was certainly attractive, but there was something dangerous about that smile. 

“It's alright,” she said to the overzealous soldiers. Their grips relaxed; the barrels of their blasters sloped slightly downwards. “I think I understand your reluctance, however we both have a job to do, so let's make this easier on each other.” She leaned over and put the hypo back in the briefcase. She took a step forwards, extending her hand.

“Take your other hand out of your pocket,” Snake demanded, refusing to take a single step forwards or backwards, body tensing and then relaxing, as he prepared to take a swing if she got too close. She let out a small huff that might be considered a laugh, though she did remove the hand she had slipped back into her lab coat, raising it back above her head.

“My name is Dr. Naomi Hunter. I'm here to get you through this mission alive, so you're going to have to trust me, like it or not.” Her smile widened, but her eyes narrowed. In the dim light of the cabin they appeared almost black.

Reluctantly, Snake accepted her outstretched hand, allowing for a brief but firm handshake. It looked like he wasn't going on this mission without her, and he wasn't going home without going on this mission. She slowly reached back down to her briefcase, grabbing the needle again, her eyes never leaving Snake and his never leaving her hands. He let his shoulders relax.

“Do it,” he said, stepping closer. She put a hand on his shoulder, having to use his arm as leverage to get level with his neck.

“This will sting.” 

Snake grunted in response, clenching his teeth as the needle pierced his neck. There was a hiss of air as she pressed the release and he felt that horrible coldness, that feeling of too much in his veins, before she pulled the needle out, placing a cotton swab over the entry wound. She taped it in place, putting the needle into a small plastic case labeled with a bio-hazard warning.

“I'll activate those and explain how they work once they've had a chance to circulate, for now you should suit up.” Naomi turned away from him, pulling out a personal computer laying the keyboard across her lap. The keyboard was half the size Snake was used to but she had thin, delicate fingers. She booted up the projector and three screens appeared in front of her face. She reached out and tapped the first one. A small picture of Snake appeared in the corner, as well as what looked to be his current physical state.

Campbell handed him a bundle. His EVA and mission suit. The texture of the fabric was the one thing on this mission he actually felt familiar with. Lightweight, durable, completely airtight, and silent. The exterior coating selectively reduced friction to increase movement speed and make his movements almost soundless. Wires ran through the whole suit that modulated his body temperature, no matter the conditions. The colour was dark grey, likely to match the most prevalent colour on the base and give him the best chance at camouflaging himself. The boots were a new model of a familiar make, Grav Boots designed to adjust his personal gravity to earth normal when switched on. The flexible soles were a new, but welcome addition, as well as the reduction in bulk and replacement of metal parts with flexible silicone and plastic ones where applicable. The soles, Campbell explained, were also magnetic, a function he could turn on and off at any time. The silicone soles would allow him to use this while remaining totally silent against any metal surfaces. His gloves, which vacuum sealed to his suit, had a similar function. He wore a set of black holsters strapped to his chest and thighs. Two held fully charged blaster pistols, while the others were pouches for various tools, fresh batteries for the pistols, as well as space to put anything he procured on site.

“My headset and my helmet?” Snake asked. Naomi gestured him over with a jerk of her head. She pointed to the middle screen which had a series of dots across it.

“I'm going to do some calibrations and I need you not to look away from those dots while I do them.” Snake grumbled but said nothing of consequence, so she pressed a few keys and suddenly everything went green, then red, then back to green. He grit his teeth, not moving his eyes from the dots, though he desperately wanted to. He wasn't going through this more than once if he could help it. His blood felt too hot, then cold, then hot again. Cold sweat prickled at the back of his neck and he was hit with an overwhelming sense of vertigo. As suddenly as it started, the sensations stopped.

“I hate nanomachines,” he muttered, shooting a sidelong glance at Dr. Hunter, who was busy adjusting something on her far screen. Snake could see that the screen with his face now had readings of his blood pressure, his heart rate, his current white and red blood cell count, and several other readings he couldn't make out.

“These are so much more than the nanomachines you're used to,” said Naomi. She almost sounded excited. “This is a fully integrated ops experience. You might want to sit down before I activate this next part.” Snake did so and was glad he had when she hit something on her screen. His vision was suddenly infrared, allowing him to even see the pilots through the thick metal doors to the cockpit. It changed back to his normal vision, however this time the entire room was covered in a grid, showing him exact measurements and distances between him and select points, including other humans. The view switched again. This time, only part of his vision was adjusted, a small transparent map superimposed over the top right corner of his vision, showing him the layout of his immediate surroundings, life forms indicated by small red dots.

_ “Can you hear me,” _ asked Naomi, but the voice did not come from beside him. Instead, it came from inside his head, echoing in his skull. Snake nodded. “Like I said,” and this time it was mercifully out loud, “this is a fully integrated ops experience. Anything I know, you can know, and I can feed that information directly into your visual cortex. The nanomachines also connect wirelessly to your suit, which will pick up on information such as vibrations in the floor, and sounds too quiet for the human ear to perceive. In turn, I can feed that information back to you. They will also do all the standard nanomachine functions such as aiding your body's natural healing process and immune system, allowing you to stay alert longer, booting your stamina and physical limits.”

“It's a bit science fiction for my tastes,” said Snake, crossing his arms. “You designed these?”

“I've heard you were a bit old fashioned.” She let out another of her half exhale half laughs. “But yes, this is my design. How did you know?”

“You sound like a proud parent.” Snake frowned, “I don't need these though, I would have been fine with just a headset.”

“I was actually working with Dr. Emmerich before his capture. You'll need these if you're going to activate Metal Gear REX.”

“They're integrated?” 

Naomi nodded, handing him a small silicone collar with a miniature generator. “That will seal to the neck of your suit and give you about an hour's worth of oxygen if you breathe normally. You shouldn't need more than 120 seconds, just long enough to make the space jump. After that, you'll be in the facilities.”

Snake snapped the collar around his neck, sealing it to the neck of his suit with the press of a button. “I don't like not having a helmet,” said Snake, running a hand through his hair.

“You'd only need it for the space jump, after that it would just get in the way, the field generators are at least designed to be disposable.”

“I won't need it for piloting?” Snake insisted, pulling his hair back again. It was getting too long and hung in his eyes. It would be distracting on a mission.

“The helmet is integrated into the machine with REX,” Naomi replied. Without even looking up, she handed him a short strip of fabric, the same material as his suit. Snake tied it around his forehead, pushing stray strands of hair back. “It's quite brilliant, you'll see once you're in the cockpit. Dr. Emmerich is a genius.”

“So you all keep saying.” Snake clenched and unclenched his hands. “How much longer until the drop point?”

“ETA five minutes 20 seconds,” said Campbell, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I hope you understand the gravity of this situation. A lot rests on your success.”

“It always does,” muttered Snake, adjusting his holsters.

“I mean it, Snake.” Campbell's voice, while normally grave, sounded positively morbid, “If the enemy manages to activate REX it could turn the tide of this war, and I don't think you want people like your ex-Foxhound friends making policy.”

“As soon as you enter the oxygen field you will trip their sensors. Now the suit will regulate your body temperature enough that you won't register as human, but they will be suspicious, and they will be on alert,” Naomi informed him. “You'll want to reach Dr. Emmerich first and then he can lead you to Metal Gear. He'll have the passwords that can link your nanomachines to REX.”

Snake had been walking towards the back of the shuttle, preparing for the jump. He stopped short and turned back to face her. “Will this be like--”

“Charon? Yes. Likely more intense considering the adjustments to the power source and the level of integration between the machine and the nanos.”

“Intense is one word for it,” Snake growled. He clenched his fists. One more time. One more time, and maybe they'd let him go for good. He shook his head, not fooling himself for a moment.

“Colonel, we're reaching the drop zone in T-minus 60 seconds,” came a voice from the overhead speaker. The Colonel pressed a button on the wall closest to the cockpit.

“Thank you, Private.” Releasing the button, he turned back to the cabin. “Everyone strap in. We're opening the hatch.” A soldier approached Snake from behind, holding out a small thruster pack with just enough fuel to get him to the ground. Snake strapped it on with practiced efficiency. As soon as the crew was buckled into their seats the Colonel rapped on the metal divider to the cockpit. Snake stood at the back of the shuttle, gripping the nearby handrail. The oxygen field should prevent him from being sucked into space without warning. However, if there were a malfunction, he'd rather be safe than sorry.

The back hatch opened with a loud hiss. Snake stepped towards the shimmering oxygen field, activating the generator on his neck. He stepped through the field and out onto the extended metal platform. He tested the straps of his thruster pack one last time.

_ “T-minus 10, 9, 8, 7,”  _ the countdown began, this time in the Colonel's voice. Snake nodded and stood ready to jump.  _ “3, 2, 1.” _


	2. Act One: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake arrives on the moon's surface, but something doesn't seem right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm looking at Tuesday nights/Wednesday mornings around like 11pm-2am for posting new chapters. It's my Friday and a night shift for me so it gives me a chance to edit/finish my illustrations at work. Let me know if a weekly schedule works for you guys or if you would rather I posted whenever I have a chapter edited even if it means two chapters in one week and then none for another two weeks. Thank you for all the Kudos and the lovely comments last week on chapter one! I was worried no one would be interested in this dumb AU, I'm so glad to be proven wrong! Feel free to hit me up on my tumblr to yell at me about fic or AUs or anything MGS really.

Snake deactivated his Grav Boots and fell forwards. For one blissful moment the radio in his head was silent. He tilted downwards, facing the moon's surface before he switched on the thrusters. They hissed and he was propelled down, gaining momentum the closer he got. This was good if he was to avoid detection, the suit may prevent him from being seen on any satellites but it certainly didn't stop anyone who was looking up. He was hit with a sense of vertigo again and a grid appeared in his vision, showing him the distance between him and the surface, as well as a line that showed him the trajectory he should stay on to hit the drop point. He shook his head. The vertigo would pass. He would get used to it -- he always adjusted quickly, despite what some might have to say about his 'old fashioned' tastes.

The drop was far shorter than Naomi's estimates, but she had likely assumed he would be going at a speed within the prescribed safety margins. There was a ten meter gap between the edge of the oxygen field where he landed and the nearest building. It was as close to cover as they could get him without him having to make a landing through the field -- dangerous, especially since gravity within the field would be Earth normal. He preferred not splattering head first on this godforsaken rock.

“Infra-red,” he requested, and his vision shifted. Shapes moving in the distance and inside the buildings but no one patrolling close to him. He dashed for the building, throwing himself stomach down in the shadow cast by lights of the shuttle pad.

“ _You don't have to speak out loud to contact us. The nanos will read your mouth and tongue movements and translate that for us,”_ came Naomi's reply. “ _Inform me if you need any specific information fed to you, I'll keep an eye on any enemy readings and keep you updated.”_

“ _Right,”_ Snake mouthed. “ _Where is Dr. Emmerich from here?”_ A pair of guards was approaching, but as Snake crouched to move to the other side of the building they turned and walked towards the landing pad instead.

“ _I'll mark the most likely locations for you.”_ Two white dots appeared in his vision. “ _Their positions will adjust as you get closer to the buildings. The first seems most likely to have labs considering the ventilation and lack of guard activity in and out. The second is the only building large enough to house Metal Gear Rex. They are blocking most of our scans so most of our intel will come from you as you explore the base, I'll keep you updated.”_

“ _Got it.”_ Snake nodded, still crouching, creeping along the edge of the building until he found a window. He peered in. This building had not been marked by Naomi, but he didn't get to where he was by blindly following orders.

An armory, though the arsenal they had in there was more than any base of this size should require. They must be stockpiling for something. “ _Are you getting this?”_

“ _Yes, the Colonel says he's going to relay these images to the Admiral directly. See what else you can find.”_

“ _Understood.”_ Snake crouched back down, looking around. Naomi was marking enemy soldiers as fast as the technology was sensing them. He carefully avoided the next pair and made his way to the second building. This one was marked and contained only four life forms. The doors required some kind of key card. As he debated what to do, a figure inside began to walk towards the front door. He held his breath, creeping nearer to the front of the building, back pressed against the concrete. Peering around the corner, he saw the coast was clear as the figure pushed open the door.

The man was dressed in full military gear, rifle in hand with a rather hefty looking battery attached. Snake waited until the door had clicked shut behind him before scanning the area one last time and grabbing him by the throat. He wrapped one arm around the soldier's neck, squeezing tight enough that the man could not call for help, using his free hand to relieve the soldier of his rifle.

He dragged the man back around the corner before any of his friends could see him. The soldier's hands scratched feebly at Snake's arm.

“Tell me where Dr. Emmerich is,” growled Snake. He loosened his hold around the soldier's throat, who took the opportunity to heave in a large breath. Snake tightened his grip again. “Call for help and I will make you regret it.”

The soldier nodded, tapping Snake's arm. This time his breath was not as deep. “The hangar bay,” he wheezed.

“ _I've got it, marking it for you.”_ The white dots on his map disappeared, a single one reappearing moments later. He thumbed his blaster, setting it to stun before firing it against the man's back. He would wake with minor burns and some aches and pains, but otherwise he'd be fine. Snake tucked the body in the shadows, grabbing his security ID before creeping along the edge of the bunker towards the hangar bay.

Security around the hangar bay was tighter, only to be expected considering the value of what was stored there. Naomi warned him about several sensors before he tripped them, and for those few moments, he was glad to have her. However, unlike other sections of the base, there were no security cameras to avoid. Snake frowned, checking for life forms before using the ID card on one of the side entrances. Someone, somewhere, didn't want a record of something. If possible, he wanted to find out what.

Security _inside_ the hangar bay was looser. Snake only had to avoid harried scientists, as opposed to trained soldiers. It didn't take him long to find the lab where his human target was being kept. The man looked anxious, even from a distance. He kept pacing back and forth, fingers tapping a quick rhythm against his leg. The front walls were mostly glass and allowed Snake to time his entrance so that Dr. Emmerich's back was turned when he slipped into the room. He crept up behind him, and when his target turned around, mouth falling open, Snake was ready. He slammed a hand over Dr. Emmerich's mouth, the momentum carrying them the rest of the way across the room. Emmerich ended up backed against the wall, hands raised in surrender.  
  
                                                   

“Dr. Emmerich?” asked Snake, his voice low. The terrified man nodded, a difficult feat considering how tightly Snake's hand was clamped across his mouth. “I'm here to rescue you. Don't scream.” Dr. Emmerich nodded again and Snake released the death grip he had on his face. He looked even younger up close, his mouth trembling, eyes wide. “I'm from EAM, I'm to escort you and your work back to an allied facility.”    

"My work? You mean REX?" Dr Emmerich frowned. “How do they expect us to get it out of here?"

"I was informed you had completed a working prototype. Dr. Hunter said you would be able to connect my nanos so I could pilot it."

Dr. Emmerich's face lit up. "Naomi was with you?"

Footsteps in the hallway. Snake threw himself to the ground, diving under a desk for cover. He pulled out his gun and flipped setting to stun, praying the doctor wasn't an idiot and wouldn't give him away. 

The door slid open. Peering around the edge of the desk Snake could see a single pair of heavy black boots and and the sleek lines of a UFP uniform.  Black pants made of a flexible weave made to be both flame retardant and able to protect against brief vacuum exposure. The matching jackets velcroed shut in the front, designed to perform a similar function, sealing at the neck and wrists. They didn't have the old school military flair like EAM did, but in terms of practicality, they certainly had Earth beat.  
  
He couldn’t see the figure’s face but judging from the figure he was a man, about six feet, blonde hair longer than EAM regulations would have ever permitted pushed back over his shoulders.

"Testing will begin in two hours. I expect you to have your team ready, with their finger on the button at exactly 1200 hours." The voice had a slight English accent that seemed out of place.

From under the desk, Snake could see the doctor's hands shaking.

"Understood," Emmerich replied, and Snake cringed at the way his voice wavered. "I'll need to do some final tests on the pilot. Tell him to meet me here as soon as possible."

Snake heard the other man grunt in assent. "Just have everything ready. Don't cock it up, Ocelot it waiting for an excuse to test some new toys."

"Everything will be ready," Emmerich managed. His voice was high and thin, struggling for air.

Snake watched the boots leave, staying under the desk until he heard the footsteps fade. Stepping out from his hiding place, he found Dr. Emmerich sitting at his desk, head in his hands. His lips were pressed tight together in a thin white line, but even Snake could see his jaw tremble, his chin crinkling with the effort of trying to keep it still.

Snake came up beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Dr. Emmerich nearly leapt out of his seat, his face contorted in a look of pure, unbridled terror. Snake pulled his hand away, raising both hands above his head. He almost felt sorry for him.

He lowered his hands. "We need to go. What's the fastest route to the hanger?"

Dr. Emmerich shook his head. "You'll never get in, but I came up with a plan." He crossed his arms and fidgeted nervously.  

"Your plan being...?” Snake was getting impatient. It wasn’t exactly mission protocol to let an unarmed civilian take charge midway through a rescue, but they were running out of time. If that test was only in two hours, they had to move.

"The test pilot has been injected with the same nanomachines as you. I asked for him to be sent here first. If you can knock him over the head or something, you can take his uniform and replace him for the test." Emmerich grinned nervously.

It was as good a plan as any. The doctor had not been what he expected. The man’s personality  seemed at odds with the machine he had built. It made it almost difficult to dislike him. Almost.

“I hope he wears my size." He hadn't meant it as a joke, but Emmerich let out a loud wheezing laugh, looking immediately embarrassed when Snake did not join in.

Dr. Emmerich looked at his feet, cleaning his throat. "So Naomi was with you?" His voice betrayed him and Snake raised his eyebrows. Dr. Emmerich flushed pink. "I only meant to... is she alright? I was worried they'd got her, too."

"She's with the alliance. Why would you think--“ Footsteps. Snake crouched back under the desk to wait, hand on his blaster, still set to stun.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss. “You wanted to see me?” came a low voice. For a moment Dr. Emmerich said nothing and Snake feared he would panic and give the game away, but it seemed he was simply gathering himself, and given the man’s personality, he hardly thought a few stray nerves were out of character.

“I need to do some last minute calibrations. Can you come and sit?” Dr. Emmerich gestured to the chair beside him. The unseen man stepped forward and Snake waited until the door hissed shut before creeping up behind him. He stood, perfectly silent, and wrapped his arm around the man’s throat. He was tall, slightly broader than Snake, but Snake had the element of surprise. He pulled them to the ground -- Snake into a crouch, his opponent with his legs sprawled forwards, landing hard on his ass.

Snake supposed he could have shot him, but this was quieter. Dr. Emmerich had stepped into the far corner of the room, looking away. Only when Snake dropped the man’s unconscious body and began to strip him did Emmerich look back.

“Is he dead?” he asked in a quiet voice. Snake couldn’t tell which answer the doctor would prefer. Snake continued his work, shaking his head.

“He’ll be fine. We can leave his body under one of the desks as long as we tie and gag him.” Dr. Emmerich nodded, starting to look a little pale.

“If they catch us--”

“They won’t,” Snake insisted. He didn’t want to hear it and Emmerich didn’t need to dwell on it. Whatever he’d been through in the past few months would be over soon and they needed to focus on that, for both of their sakes. The faster he got this over with, the faster he could stop piloting and go back to his unofficial retirement. And his dogs.

For a moment it looked like Dr. Emmerich would argue, but then his shoulders sagged and he said nothing. Snake finished stripping the pilot by himself, Emmerich standing with his arms folded, fingers drumming on his skinny bicep. He looked away when Snake stripped out of his EVA suit, pulling on the pilot’s uniform. He only turned back when he saw Snake struggle attach all the straps, skilled fingers arranging everything in its right place.

The suit was a little big on him but Dr. Emmerich tightened and adjusted where he could. It wasn’t perfect but from a distance, he doubted anyone would notice. He was passed a helmet with a digital display instead of a visor, activated when Dr. Emmerich used his tablet to connect Snake’s nanos and his suit.

"I'm scared that you're a trick or some sort of cruel joke." Emmerich's tone was light but there was a tremor in his voice.

“Gather up all your research, destroy anything you’ll leave behind. EAM doesn’t want the enemy having this kind of technology.” He ignored Dr. Emmerich’s previous comment, preferring instead of adjust his helmet.

Dr. Emmerich froze long enough that Snake almost repeated himself, but then he said something in affirmation and Snake crouched by the door, ready to grab anyone who may come in. It didn’t take Dr. Emmerich long to gather his things.  Apparently, he kept most of his research on portable hard drives, which quickened things somewhat. He gestured for the doctor to crouch beside him, doing one final visual sweep of the hall before stepping through the door and maintaining a brisk pace.

Emmerich struggled to keep up, his legs shorter and working double time to keep Snake’s pace. He guided Snake through a short maze of labs and empty rooms until they reached the hangar bay itself. It was mostly empty, to Snake’s relief -- only a handful of scientists and a few soldiers milled about, none of them taking much notice of either of them. There was a single guard who stood in front of the lift. He stood aside when Dr. Emmerich approached, nodding in recognition.

Metal Gear Rex stood six stories tall, its humanoid form a familiar one by now. The design was sleeker than Snake was used to, this machine designed for agility, the load lightened by its ‘revolutionary power source’. Snake grimaced. A better machine it may be, but to pilot it… Once or twice maybe, before it started to take it’s toll. Looking at it Snake felt certain that if he was forced to stay with the EAM, piloting the thing would kill him.

The lift took them to the head. The cockpit itself rested closer to the ‘neck’ of the machine, the head being a clever decoy. Without windows, the cockpit was heavily defended by thick armour. According to Dr. Emmerich, accurate 360 degree visuals would be fed into his helmet at all times. If he turned his head, the picture would follow, making the system much more intuitive than having to switch cameras -- or using windows, which would weaken the integrity of the hull defences.  

Entering at the top of the head they climbed down a manhole-like entrance, hand over hand down the metal rungs until they reached the cockpit. It was roomier than Snake was used to; it could comfortably contain a pilot and two passengers. In fact, two seats were installed just behind the pilot’s stand. Helmets rested above them, clearly for the protection of whoever got sick enjoyment out of tagging along in one of these things.

Dr. Emmerich began to boot up the computers, display screens springing to life inside Snake’s helmet. “We need to go before--”

“Someone stop them!” A familiar voice cried out -- the man from the lab, the English one.

“They must have found the body,” growled Snake.

“Quick, hook me up. I’ll get us out of here.” He heard the door above them seal shut, Dr. Emmerich frantically tapping away at his tablet and at the controls in front of him.  
“Get on the pilot’s stand. I’ll connect your nanos.” Snake did as he was told, taking the four straps from the ceiling and four from the floor and attaching them to the proper points on his suit. They would work like seat belts, Dr. Emmerich told him, keeping him balanced on the platform. They were moving to a complete virtual reality system, giving the pilot the most precise control over the MG. Two in the front and two in the back, and then the same at his feet. He felt a little like a child in a jolly jumper. The floor below him was made of a slick material that would allow his boots to slide over it to mimic walking without any resistance. The straps, when switched on by his nanos, would hold him so his feet just brushed the floor.

Snake found himself longing for the familiarity of the manual Metal Gears he was used to. He was a skilled pilot; he would adjust, but nothing beat having your hands on proper console. This cockpit felt too big. Standing felt wrong. At the very least, it looked like the UFP didn’t have any other MGs available. He wouldn’t have to fight in this thing, just fly them the hell out of there.

Dr. Emmerich activated his cameras and the external microphones at the same time. Snake almost threw up. It felt like he was standing on nothing 60 feet above the ground. Snake could see the man from before, put a face to the voice. “I don’t care how it happened, get them out of there, you idiot!” shouted the Englishman. He had a sharp, unpleasant, and uncomfortably familiar face. It was twisted with rage as he bellowed orders at the soldiers below. Snake saw a group of them riding the lift towards the top entrance.

“Hurry up, doctor. We have company,” he barked, his hands clenched in tight fists.

“Connection is almost complete, I just need to…” Snake felt hands on the back of his suit, the plug, right. He grunted as the enormous needle slid into his back. It was heavy for a moment before Dr. Emmerich adjusted his suit again. The ‘outlet’, as so many pilots humorously called it, squeezed tight around the needle, taking the weight of the cord and metal off of Snake’s back. “I’m activating now.”

Snake was grateful for the warning. He was used to the jolt that normally came with MG activation, but he was not used to this, not by a longshot. He hadn’t meant to, but he screamed. The surge of power through his body made him momentarily weak. The flesh around the needle pulsed. He was glad for the straps holding him up. He would have sunk to his knees otherwise.

Thrusters were controlled through heel movements. He heard scrambling and blaster fire above them -- it was time to get the hell out of dodge. He tapped his left heel twice, rocketing them into the air. One fist up, he punched a hole through the roof of the Hangar Bay, the steel was wet paper against the powerful machine.

He could still hear Blonde English screaming at the soldiers. Blaster fire glanced off the armour uselessly. Pain sparked through his entire body. It was like being electrocuted and having his blood drained from his body at the same time. He felt cold.

A hand on his shoulder. He tried to turn to look, but the helmet only showed him what was behind the Metal Gear. “What’s wrong, I can--”

“Quiet,” Snake snarled through gritted teeth, “I need to concentrate.” The pain was making it hard to focus on anything on his visor. Two ships, sleek fighters, approaching. He reached for his blaster and found the holster empty. “Where the hell are the weapons?”

“We hadn’t installed the handheld ones yet. You just have the arm cannons. One second, let me…” Suddenly Snake was no longer balanced in empty air. Thin blue outlines of the Metal Gear surrounded him and he could see the cannons attached to the forearms. Dr. Emmerich fed him brief visual instructions on the proper hand gestures to activate them. He flew back out of the range of the first fighter as it flew across his front, peppering the hull with blaster fire. Their guns were powerful enough to make the cockpit vibrate.

Snake charged up the first cannon and fired. A miss. He mentally readjusted and the next time the fighter flew by, he connected. It exploded in a ball of flame, hurtling back down towards the base. As he recharged he saw a fighter about to skim by,he swatted out of the air with his arm, connecting right across the nose.

The cockpit shuddered with the impact of the explosion. He cried out as pain shot through his arm. So it wasn't just the old power source... this was something else entirely. No wonder EAM wanted Emmerich.

He grit his teeth and did a quick scan for more incoming threats. Two more fighters had taken off and were coming straight for them. Snake frowned and tapped his heel again, barreling straight for the oncoming enemies. He skimmed right over them, picking up speed. The fighters turned to make chase but Snake was long gone.

The new propulsion system wasn't the only impressive thing about MG REX but Snake wasn't about to tell Dr. Emmerich that. He'd prefer not to encourage him. As soon as they were far enough away, Dr. Emmerich showed him how to flip on the autopilot.

"About an hour to the rendezvous point. According to the readings, we'll make it with fuel to spare." He sat down in the seat across from Dr. Emmerich, running a hand through his hair. It was getting hard to stay upright. The nausea was the least of the side effects. After a brief conversation with the Colonel, confirming the rendezvous, he closed his eyes, intending to sleep off the rest of the side effects.

"Were you in pain?" Apparently sleep was not in the cards. Opening one eye, he saw Emmerich leaning toward him, his expression one of concern. "We should adjust your nanos. If you let me take a look--“

"You of all people should know that's not how it works," Snake growled, his fists tight on his lap. He had to resist the urge to reach across the cockpit and strike him.  
  
“The machine is supposed to interact seamlessly with your nanos. If something is wrong I can adjust it--”

“Nothing is wrong. Stop playing dumb, Emmerich,” he snapped. He was sick and exhausted. Soon he would be on his way home to see his dogs and hopefully forget about this whole mess for the time being. It was unlikely EAM would leave him alone for long. He was their best pilot and they knew it. This new machine, while agile and powerful, required a skilled pilot until they could work out the kinks in the prototype. They needed someone who could handle nasty surprises and malfunctions and still bring their expensive gear home in one piece.

Hurt flashed across the doctor’s face. “I think I know my own creation--”

“Either you do and you should be quiet right about now, or you’re not as clever as everyone thinks you are.” He didn’t have the energy for these games, not after that. The pain had supposedly stopped but a part of him still ached like he was still hooked in. It had been jarring, being back in an MG, even worse being back in one so reminiscent of _that one._ Some memories were better left alone.

He leaned his head back against his seat, closing his eyes again. His head pounded and he grit his teeth. He could feel Emmerich’s eyes on him but Snake wouldn’t meet them, if he was looking for a way out of his guilt, he could ask someone else. He didn’t want to think about what kind of state EAM was in if they would approve a project like this one.  
  
Emmerich was either an idiot or pretending to be one. He wouldn’t get answers before they got back to an Alliance station. The pain would into a dull ache, though his back would be tender and bruised. With nothing else left to do, Snake allowed himself to drift, ignoring the desperate looks from Emmerich, and his own anger, bubbling just beneath the surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was a little more exciting. Thanks for sticking it out!


	3. Act One: Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake has a late night visitor. It's a lot less sexy than it sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys thanks again for the nice comments last week and the suggestions about update schedule. By popular demand I'm going to try and keep my regular weekly update schedule, we'll see how that goes once I run out of pre-written chapters ha-ha. 
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying this, again, feel free to hit me up on tumblr if you wanna talk about mgs or dumb AUs.

After Snake’s outburst Emmerich seemed to get the hint, occasionally throwing him worried glances. He would nervously look away any time Snake met his eye, face flushing. Snake mostly ignored him, getting some much needed rest. It didn’t take them long to get to the rendezvous point. A spacecraft carrier had been sent to meet them, the enormous hangar bay had more than enough room for several Metal Gears, not just the single one he deposited in a maintenance station. 

The moment they had the hatch open they were greeted by a set of armed EAM personnel. “The Colonel wants to see you both,” Snake was informed by the man at the front of the group, a Yeoman judging by his uniform. Back straight, chin pointed up, he looked, down his nose at both Snake and Dr Emmerich. He took them down the lift, the security personnel on either side of them somewhat threatening. Snake couldn’t figure out the angle Campbell was going for, was he trying to intimidate him or Emmerich?

There was a bench outside Campbell’s office. “You wait here,” the Yeoman instructed Dr Emmerich, “the Colonel will call you when he’s ready.” Emmerich did as he was told without hesitation. Something wasn’t right. The Yeoman opened the door for Snake, gesturing him in. Snake took one last look at Emmerich, his head hung low, eyes glued to his lap where his fingers tapped erratically. He stepped past the Yeoman and into the office.

“Glad to see you back in one piece, Snake,” said Campbell as soon as the door shut behind them. Snake took the seat across from him, resisting the temptation to put his feet up on Campbell’s expensive looking wooden desk. He wondered how he’d managed to convince the health and safety board to let him have it on the ship considering the fire hazard and fragile nature of the material. Campbell reached across the desk to hand snake a cigarette, electronic this time. Snake took it anyways, inhaling the unsatisfying vapours. Vanilla flavoured. He hated it.

“You didn’t need me for this,” he stated, taking another drag from the e-cig as if it was going to taste any better the second time around. “It was too easy, and I’m not bragging, I think it’s too good to be true.”

“Are you suggesting a setup?” Campbell raised his eyebrows in alarm.

“I don’t know whose end it would have been from though, ours or theirs.” Snake glared across the desk.  

“Snake I know you’re upset about your retirement-”

“Fuck my retirement,” Snake snapped, “I got Emmerich out in under two hours, all his research, and the Metal Gear. Everything in one piece. The only resistance we got was right as I was taking off. If that doesn’t smell funny to you then I would start giving your own sweat stains a sniff.” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice but he was almost shouting by the time he was done. Campbell leaned back on his chair, but other than raised eyebrows he betrayed no sense of alarm or discomfort at Snake’s anger.

“You need to calm down-” Snake slammed his fist down on the table, making the room shudder with the impact.

“And Dr Emmerich is either very stupid or very good at acting because he doesn’t seem to have any idea how his machine even works. You might want to look into that, is he even the one you want?” This time Campbell gave him a cool, level gaze, silencing any further ranting.

“You leave that to us, Snake,” his voice was cold, colder than Snake could remember it ever being. “We all watched the recordings but do you have anything else to report, anything that might have not made it onto the screen?”

Snake’s eyes narrowed. “No sir, that will be all,” he said, dismissing himself. He stood, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder as he said, “I won’t fly that  _ thing _ again.”

“That will be all, Snake,” the Colonel growled, “send in Dr Emmerich when you leave.”

Snake didn’t bother responding, stepping out the door and gesturing towards the office. “You’re up,” he told Emmerich, who nearly jumped out of his seat. He quickly composed himself, standing and smoothing his pants.

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Emmerich managed to stammer. He let out a small uncomfortable cough. “I guess I’ll see you around.” Snake hated the way he almost sounded hopeful.

“Not likely,” he retorted walking down the hall without a single glance over his shoulder.

 

* * *

  
The rec room was empty at three in the morning. Snake had been given temporary lodgings on earth Alliance base 117 just off planet from Mars with the promise to take him back to Earth as soon as the reports were finalized. He didn't believe them but he had been given a live feed of the kennel his dogs were being kept at so he was pacified for the moment. 

His lungs burned and his legs ached as they pounded the rubber of the treadmill. He'd been running for over an hour, sweat poured down his back and soaked the bandana he had tied around his brow. His legs felt wobbly as he stepped off, he hadn't slept since he'd been... re-recruited two days ago, and he'd been going at a straight sprint for the last 45 minutes. But it was more than exhaustion that made his body shake.  

He’d meant to run so fast, so hard, that his brain would shut off and leave him in peace. He hated the inevitability of his next deployment. They would use him, just like before. He may refuse to pilot Dr Emmerich's monstrosity but they'd get him back in the pilot's chair of another machine. He hadn’t escaped before and he was a fool to think otherwise, they just hadn’t wanted him they way he’d been after Charon. He’d been volatile, emotional, he could have killed every one of his superiors that hid the truth from him. He could have killed himself for what he had done, he almost had with the drinking.  

He'd spotted the heavy bag earlier but had opted for cardio, hoping to take his mind off his anger. Seeing as it hadn't subsided he decided to indulge. He wrapped his hands with the supplies beside the first aid kit.

He meant to take it slow at first, warm himself up, but his conversation with the Colonel drifted back and he found himself launching his entire body weight at the bag. He threw punch after punch, until his fists were sore and he found himself again short of breath.  
  
                                                
  


It almost would have been better if he hadn't survived Charon. At least then he wouldn't have to wonder if he'd done the right thing. He rested his hands on his knees, panting heavily. He'd taken his shirt off some time ago and the sweat on his back was starting to cool as recycled air from the AC blew against his damp skin. 

He wondered how long it would be before they put him back on active duty, before he was out doing their dirty work again. A part of him wanted to defect, not because he cared about planetary independance, but because he wanted to screw EAM like they’d screwed him. But he knew he wouldn’t. UFP was just as bad, they’d use him just the same and nothing would change. No one was going to win this war, even if one side were defeated. 

He didn't even register he'd been touched before he had the assailant's arm twisted behind his back. It wasn't until he'd almost broken the man's wrist that he registered whom he had pinned to the floor.

He let go of Dr Emmerich, watching him scramble back and then clamber to his feet. The doctor seemed a little worse for wear. His legs shook and his mouth gaped. He rubbed his wrist, probably sore, Snake hadn't exactly tried to be gentle.

"Sneaking up on a man like that is a good way to get yourself killed." He said nothing about how he should have heard him coming but for the blood pounding in his ears and the way his breath came in short gasps.

"Geez I'm so sorry I didn't mean-" he cleared his throat, "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you."

"What do you want, doctor?" Snake asked, his voice clipped. "I'm a little busy."

"I- i-" he stammered, "I need to talk to you." Snake rolled his eyes. "Can you meet me in my quarters?"

"What the hell are you even doing on this station?" said Snake. Dr Emmerich looked at his feet. Snake doubted he was on the station of his own volition.

“I- well, I’ve been assigned here, for the time being, I thought maybe we should talk,” Emmerich was red faced, looking anywhere but at him. 

"I don't know you,” said Snake, matter of fact, “ we're not friends and I don't care to be."

He would have to be blind not to see the flash of hurt across Emmerich's face, but it quickly turned to steely resolve. "I need you to meet me in my quarters and I need you to do it tonight, it's important." Snake almost laughed. Dr Emmerich stood a good three inches shorter than him at least, and was about half his bulk, yet he stood inches away from him staring up with such a look of determination, Snake almost admired it.

He should have said no, more likely than not being alone with the man would only make Snake angrier. But there had been something about his gaze, there was a defiant spark there that Snake respected. Emmerich had to know Snake could take him apart with his bare hands and yet he stood there making demands of him. Snake had to admit he was more than a little curious as to what was so damn important. 

"Fine." Snake watched Emmerich's legs almost buckle with relief. "Give me your room number and station section. I'll be there in twenty."

Emmerich nodded. "Thank you." He handed Snake a piece of paper with his information including his comm number. Snake watched him go before grabbing a fresh towel from the hamper and heading to the showers.  
  


* * *

 

Hair damp on the collar of his clean white tee shirt, he buzzed the intercom outside Dr Emmerich's quarters. The door slid open and he stepped across the threshold into a room much nicer than his own. There was a single bed in the far corner behind a screen like the standard cabins, along with a small desk with its own computer system. What was impressive was the living room (made up of a love seat and a coffee table) and the kitchenette with a single seat breakfast bar. Snake had been forced to eat in the mess hall with the rest of the enlisted whispering and shooting glances at him. None had been brave enough to straight out ask him if he really was  _ the _ Solid Snake.

The door slid shut behind him and Emmerich leapt to his feet from his desk chair. "I wasn't sure you'd actually come..." he said. He rubbed his forearm, the one Snake had twisted before.

"I said I would," Snake replied, leaning against the wall to the left of the door. Emmerich nodded and left it at that.

"Take a seat?" He gestured to the love seat. Snake shook his head.

"I'd rather stand." Emmerich seemed unsure of what to do with himself then. After a moment of what appeared to be painful deliberation he sat back down at his desk, swiveling the chair to face Snake. He rested his head in his hands letting out a long sigh. Snake was already growing impatient. "You called me here, what the hell is this all about?"

Emmerich's head jerked up, startled. His mouth opened and he visibly struggled to speak. "In REX," he managed, "you were in pain."

A statement of fact and for the life of him Snake couldn't figure out why he would want to bring that up, especially since they were alone together. "You dragged me here for this," Snake seethed. Emmerich waved his hands in front of his face.

"Wait, please, let me... let me explain better," he begged. Snake shrugged, crossing his arms. "I didn't know about the power source."

Snake was across the room in less than a second. He had Emmerich by the collar, hoisted up so his toes barely brushed the ground. Emmerich let out an undignified yelp as he was manhandled. "I may be just another soldier to you but don't for one second think I'm stupid," Snake growled.

"I'm not lying," Emmerich squeaked. He hung limp in Snake's grip, not even struggling. "Back with Earth Alliance I designed everything else. They told me how much power I had to work with and the size and weight, I tried to ask but they wouldn’t tell me anything. I just thought they had a really intense patent. I never imagined..." Emmerich's glasses slid off his nose as he looked down, tumbling between them and onto the floor. Snake felt something hot hit his chest and he looked up to see that the man was actually honest to god weeping. He put him down, suddenly uncomfortable in the small room.

Emmerich sniffled, picking up his glasses and putting them on the desk beside him. He sat down and Snake backed up against the wall. "I didn't know," Emmerich continued, "but that's no excuse." His voice was thick and Snake watched him wipe tears away with the palm of his hand. It felt wrong to watch him cry, like he was intruding instead of being imposed upon. He looked away, across the room, the love seat suddenly had a very fascinating texture.

"I should have known." Emmerich continued. "It was all just too good to be true, but I was so wrapped up in the project, in my own stupid ego," he hiccuped, " can you believe I was excited when you showed up and said you were going to pilot it...  _ the  _ Solid Snake, piloting  _ my _ Metal Gear." Emmerich shook his head and fresh tears poured down his face.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone." His entire body shook and no amount of wiping could stop the flow of tears. "Dammit I wanted to help people, I wanted to protect people, what good did I do?"

"And the Colonel knew... everyone except me it seems knew, they were all in on it and they let you go anyways. God, I'm such a fool."

"Why did you call me here?" Snake asked, and his voice was gentler than he expected it to be.

Dr Emmerich looked up at him, face wet and red, eyes bloodshot. "You hate this too, I know you do because you hate me for being part of it." He bit his lip trying so hard to stay composed. "If you hate this then help me stop it."

Snake was taken aback by the ferocity in which he said it. Snake uncrossed his arms, uncertain, for the first time, if his gut instinct had been wrong. If what Emmerich was saying was true.... "and what exactly do you want to stop, I can't exactly take down the EAM and broker galactic peace."

Snake didn't like the sound of his own words. He wasn't getting roped into this, he  _ wasn't. _

"We can't let them build any more REXs, we can’t let them force anyone else to pilot them. A person’s body is not a battery to be used and thrown away. That’s how they’re treating people, that’s why they want stronger and faster and more intuitive Metal Gears, they want a big shiny toy they can pop just about anyone into and let it run until the battery dies. How long would anyone last piloting something like that regularly, a year? Six months?” Dr Emmerich was crying again, but he shook with the ferocity of his anger. “I trusted them, I trusted them and look what I did! I’m responsible for this, I have to stop this before I hurt anyone else. After that… I’ll figure it out from there.”

Emmerich looked up and his eyes shone wet but there was something brave about his damp cheeks and his determined jaw. “Will you help me?”

“I need some time to think, I don’t even know what you need from me,” said Snake,  _ and if you think I trust you yet, you have another thing coming _ , he didn’t say.

“Just think about it, alright? Please.” He reached out and grabbed Snake’s hand. “I know you’re a good person.”

Snake pulled his hand away and shook his head. Naive, and even after all this he trusted Snake, it was remarkable. He couldn’t let himself get sucked into this, he wasn’t a freedom fighter, he was just a man. He was tired, a couple more years of this and he’d be dead anyways, what would it matter then?

The door opened to let him out and Snake stepped into the hall, making his way back to his own quarters. The walk was a quiet one, it was early ship’s time, god knows what Emmerich was even doing awake. 

Finally at his own quarters he barely had time to strip off his pants before he fell into bed, his head hitting the pillow with a satisfying whump. He rolled over onto his back, pulling the blanket over his legs, it was always cold on off planet stations, especially military ones.

That man, Dr Emmerich, he was so goddamn presumptuous, coming in with that whole ‘you’re a good person’ bullshit. He didn’t need that, not now. It was foolish to think they could accomplish anything but getting themselves killed. But if they could… No, he had to be practical. He needed to look after himself and they’d let him go last time, perhaps if he cooperated they would again. It wasn’t likely but it was better than this false hope heroics crap Emmerich was spouting. The man was clearly an idealistic moron anyways, his willful blindness in regards to the nature of his own creation proved that. If Snake were to partner with someone it would be a person more like himself, someone who knew what they were getting themselves into, who understood the nature of the business. But he wasn’t considering it.

He rolled back onto his front, calling for lights off. The cabin dimmed to darkness appropriately. But sleep would not come, no matter how he tossed and turned. He was exhausted, his body ached from the day’s exertion, but his mind would not stop racing, would not stop turning over Emmerich’s words. “You’re a good person” what the hell did he know, he wasn’t there, he didn’t see the brutality of Charon. Emmerich never saw Snake murder the only friend he’d ever had, and then turn around and kill  a man he’d respected, loved even. A man that to this  day he wasn’t sure was wrong.

His fist pounded the mattress. He had to sleep. He had to get Emmerich’s voice out of his head, that hopeful desperation, that “Please”. It wasn’t the first night he wished he’d listened to Frank, had joined him when he had the chance, but he’d been younger then, he’d believed in something that he knew no longer existed. He was no better than Emmerich, really, believing everything he was told just because he wanted to believe in something.

When sleep finally came he was plagued with strange dreams. He heard Emmerich’s voice, and every time he jerked awake, covered in a cold sweat, he could swear he was in the room. 

* * *

 

 

“You wanted to see me again, sir?” Snake asked. He’d been woken by a message at his terminal at six in the morning station time and had ignored it for another two hours despite being wide awake (and despite “as soon as you get up” having been bolded). He never used to be this petty, perhaps it had been the two hours sleep that had left him irritable and prone to childish stubbornness. 

“I’ve been thinking ever since you left, about how you think the Doctor’s rescue was a set up, I’d like to hear more about this theory.” The Colonel folded his hands on his desk, fingers idly tapping. Snake could see he hadn’t slept either, circles under his eyes dark and the lines deep.

Snake sat down, crossing an ankle over his knee, lacing his fingers behind his head. “It had to be, there is no way a location with an arsenal that large, that apparently heavily guarded, would just let me get away that quick, that clean   
  
“I thought something was fishy when I got to the hangar bay, there were no cameras, the guards were sparse, I thought maybe they had something they didn’t want anyone to see, but that doesn’t make any sense, the card I ripped off a grunt got me access.” 

“So they were disorganized, that doesn’t give me anything, nothing I can bring to the admiralty anyways.”

Snake grit his teeth, “This is supposed to be the weapon of the century, something to turn the tide of this war, and they let me walk out of there with it. These terrorists have had all of EAM on the defensive for years and you expect me to believe they would have so few men stationed to guard their ultimate weapon?”

The Colonel shook his head, “I hear what you’re saying, I do, by all rights it doesn't make sense, but  _ why? _ if you can at least give me that I would have something to present but going on what you’re giving me… well you know how that would look?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t want to risk your cushy new position on a washed up war hero. Look I don’t know why! And I doubt Emmerich does either, they have a plan we’re just not seeing it yet.” Snake crossed his arms, “This was a waste of time, yours and mine.”

“That’s not fair Snake, you know I can’t-”

“Can’t what? Bring perfectly valid concerns to the Admiralty? What aren’t you telling me Colonel, have politics gotten so bad since I’ve been away?” Snake drummed his fingers on his bicep. “For all we know they could have a timed self destruct hidden away in there, did you even think of that?”

“We had our best engineering staff look for anything like that the moment you landed,” the Colonel frowned, “despite what you may think we’re not careless or stupid. They didn't find anything Snake, so unless you can give me evidence…”  

Snake stood, “I can’t help you if you won’t listen to me.”

The Colonel’s expression shifted into something that looked like regret before it hardened again. “You don’t know what it’s like out there anymore, you haven’t seen the body count. No one is going to drop everything for someone that hasn’t even been in the fight for over five years just because they ‘have a bad feeling’.”

“You know I’m right,” Snake insisted through gritted teeth. Fucking politics, it was always the fucking politics.

“Yes!” Campbell snapped back, “I do! But we don’t have the resources or manpower to look into this, I can’t risk the men it would take to rip that moon apart and find out. We have entire colonies trapped inside blockades made by terrorists.”

“You say all this, but you’re willing to ignore possibly the biggest piece of intel we’ve had in years?” Snake’s lips pulled back to reveal his teeth. “If you can find out what they’re planning we could actually get ahead of them for once instead of just reacting.”

“I don’t think you’re actually hearing me, or if you are, you’re not listening. The Admiralty isn’t going to hear this.” 

“With all due respect if you don’t think the admiralty is profiting from this war you’re as blind as Dr. Emmerich. Martial law is supposed to a be temporary emergency measure, not a goddamn permanent solution to a problem they created by being unable to negotiate.” Snake could feel himself getting angrier, could feel his hands shake and his jaw clench.   
  
“You’re not looking at the circumstances that have forced them to this point,  _ you sound like your Father _ .” 

Snake froze, and for a moment he thought he may actually launch himself across the desk. “You know where you can shove that-.”

“Dismissed, Snake.” Campbell’s tone was cold but Snake could see his anger too.  

Snake didn’t respond, glad to leave the tiny windowless office. His blood boiled and the room had gotten too small. Whatever he was missing it didn’t matter, not to him, not anymore. He’d done his duty, he’d tried to warn them. This time next week he had every intention of being on a shuttle back home whether they dismissed him or not and if everything went to hell, well it wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snake, my guy, my buddy, please chill. Things get pretty bromantic next chapter so there's that. Things get really romantic like fifteen chapters from now. I'm so sorry I can't ever do anything but hellish slowburn. Please yell at me to write faster so we can get to that part.


	4. Act One: Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake remembers the government super bad and re-discovers the joy of friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I had a busy week and completely lost track of days. No illustration this week, I'll post on tumblr when I have one.

The next week was spent in a horrible sort of limbo. He was kept out of every loop, told they were still finalizing the reports, and every time he tried to get more information, he found himself an armed escort back to his quarters. Something was going on, something Earth Alliance Military didn’t want him knowing about. It scared him more than he wanted to admit.

Hypocrite he was, as much as EAM avoided his questions, he did same thing to Dr. Emmerich. The man was persistent, Snake would give him that, but Snake was faster. Every time Emmerich had tried to hunt him down, he found a way to be elsewhere. Emmerich’s determination was almost inspiring, but Snake had made a decision to keep his nose clean. If he had any hope of settling back down into early retirement, it was by playing by their rules. Emmerich’s idealism was admirable but impractical.

At least that was what he’d thought until at long last the Colonel said they were done with the reports and they would put him back on active duty.

“ What the hell do you mean ‘active duty?” Snake narrowed his eyes, staring across Campbell’s wooden desk.

The Colonel crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. Snake mirrored him. “You remember when you enlisted, you signed a contract. You don’t just get to quit, that’s not how this works.”

Snake lifted his boots, resting his feet on the desk. “I’m pretty sure it’s been working just fine for the last five years.”

“I feel it’s necessary to remind you that you have technically been AWOL for the last five years.” Campbell glanced at Snake’s feet, but didn’t respond to the petulant gesture. “We let it slide considering the circumstances that preceded your disappearance but—”

“ But nothing. You told me right before that last mission you only called on me because you needed me.”

Campbell was silent for longer than was comfortable, not that anything about this conversation was comfortable. Snake was positively bristling with rage that he was desperately trying to hold onto until he could let it out in the gym.

“ I suppose we still need you then.”

When Snake opened his mouth to respond, Campbell stopped meeting his eyes.

“ Dismissed,” he said.

Snake closed his mouth and stood, knuckles white and fists shaking with the effort of keeping them by his sides.  

He barely made it to the gym, still in his uniform. He’d started wearing it again out of habit but now the starched feel of the fabric made his skin itch. There were a couple startled recruits on treadmills when he arrived, but they took one look at him and they were gone before he even looked back.

He leaned forwards, grabbing his shirt by the back of his collar and yanking it over his head, popping the top two buttons in the process. He barely had it off before he launched himself at the heavy bag, not even bothering to wrap his hands.

His fists pounded the bag again and again until his wrists hurt and his knuckles stung. He looked down and saw they were split and bloody. The first two knuckles on each hand were swollen — when he wiped his brow, he felt a sharp pain that he would need to get looked at. Sweat poured down his face and his back, soaking the waistband of his navy pants.

He leaned his forehead against the bag, which was wet with his sweat and in some places, blood. He swore, and then jerked upright when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He blinked until they came into focus, his head swimming with exhaustion as the adrenaline subsided.

“ Snake—”

“ Leave,” said Snake. Emmerich closed his mouth, his lips pressed together. He took another nervous step forwards. Snake hit the heavy bag. The hard smack of flesh against vinyl made Emmerich jump, stopping him in his tracks.

“ Snake, listen, I can—”

He hit the bag again, but this time he was unable to stop the hiss that escaped as pain shot up his arm. He was aware, now that the endorphins had worn off, that he had likely fractured something in his hand, possibly both. He must have been a sight because Emmerich took a step back, hands raised to his chest like he was calming a vicious dog.  

“ Get. Out.”

Emmerich’s hands lowered to his sides and something in his face shifted. It almost looked like pity and Snake had to look away before he did something he’d regret. He made it a rule not to hit anyone who couldn’t hit back.

“ Alright, I’ll leave.”

Snake watched him go, somewhat suspicious of the way his shoulders didn’t slump and his feet didn’t shuffle. It was purposeful, a tactical retreat. Snake didn’t know Dr. Emmerich well, but the man walking away from him wasn’t much like the man he’d rescued.

He waited until he was truly gone before pulling his shirt back on, blood staining the cuffs as they dragged over his knuckles.

 

* * *

 

The nurse had scolded him about his hands, or at least she’d started to before the look on Snake’s face had silenced her. They activated the nanomachines to fix the fractures in his hands and used a dermal regenerator on the raw knuckles. It had stung and he’d been told to be careful with the newly healed flesh. He left before they could finish listing everything he wasn’t supposed to be doing, he doubted the EAM would take any of their recommendations under serious consideration.

Campbell found him two days later in the mess hall and walked him to the hangar bay. They stood in Metal Gear REX’s impressive shadow and Snake tried not to look too hard at it.

“ Foxhound’s remnants have been more of a threat than we initially thought they would be,” Campbell told him, his hands clasped behind his back. “I think you were right about your last mission being a setup, they want to lull us into a false sense of security.”

“ They took one of our MG Carrier ships, taking off with six Metal Gear units and destroying an entire escort team.”

“And I suppose you want the carrier back,” said Snake. He knew where this was going. REX loomed over him, more ominous than the last time he stood at its feet. This time he knew its true capabilities. _Don’t you dare,_ he thought, watching Campbell out of the corner of his eye, _don’t you dare make that order._

“And I want the Sons of Big Boss dealt with, they’re causing a stir with the higher ups. They’re not the ragtag terrorist group command would have us think they are and that’s a problem for both us and the president. If word of this spreads to the general public, we lose face and we can’t afford that right now.” Campbell shifted, turning so his back was to REX and he faced Snake.

“Is that supposed to make me care? I’ll do my job, Colonel, but don’t expect me to believe in any of this.” His heart pounded in his throat. It was hard to breathe.  

"You’ve been away from the battlefield too long."

Snake clenched his teeth and bit back a response.

"We have a window of opportunity here while Foxhound regroups. We need to strike fast, show UFP we won't lay back and take it." Snake glanced up at REX as his throat tightened.

"And this is where I come in," he said, his voice sounded thin and far away. He clasped his hands behind his back, his fingernails digging into the meat of his hands. The Colonel nodded and glanced up at REX.

"We need an experienced pilot."

"No," Snake said, his voice flat, "absolutely not. I'll fly anything else. I’m not getting back in there."

"Believe me when I say I didn't want it to come to this. I tried to pull other pilots, but they can't handle REX — not in this prototype stage. Not like you can." The Colonel shifted, and if Snake didn't know better, he'd swear he looked guilty.

"What happened to the other pilots?" Snake asked in a low voice.

"Both are receiving appropriate treatment." Snake knew that was the only answer he was likely to get.

"It doesn't matter. I won't do it. Court martial me, I don't care." He didn't let his voice waver, he didn't let it indicate the way his stomach churned. That  _ thing  _ was monstrous and should never have been created, let alone piloted by a human being.

"I said I didn't want it to come to this and I wasn't lying," said Campbell in a resigned tone. "Snake," Campbell reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. If Snake didn't know better, he’d have sworn he saw regret on his commander's face. "You’ll be charged with sedition and held indefinitely, your property will belong to the Earth Alliance Military."

He wasn’t going home, he would never be going home. It took everything in Snake's power not to strike him,  not to throw himself at the Colonel and start throwing punch after punch. The Colonel hung his head.

"I did say—“

"Don't." He looked back up at REX _.  _ "I'll assume I'm leaving ASAP." He yanked his shoulder out from Campbell's hand. "Get me my suit."

It didn't take them long to have him suited up, the flexible material of the pilot’s jumpsuit familiar, but no comfort. The sick feeling of dread he had the moment Campbell found him in the mess hall had only intensified. The lift to REX's entry port was both the fastest and the slowest thing in the entire universe. Two armed marines stood on either side of him, not that it would have made a difference if he had really intended to make a break for it.

He hesitated at the entry port and the Marines tensed then visibly relaxed when he climbed down the hatch of his own accord. He was relieved to find the technician inside was a stranger. If it had been Dr. Emmerich… he didn’t know what he would do. He wouldn't endanger his dogs for petty vengeance, not when they were everything he had left.

He allowed himself to be plugged in, strapped in, and then left alone in the cockpit. He listened to the tech fumble his way up the hatch and then seal behind him. He was alone.

"Snake, your target is the captured MG Carrier..." He let the rest of the briefing drone on. He knew the drill, re-capture the carrier, incapacitate the resistance, or in this case, destroy it. He wasn't an assassin, he wanted to protest, but it was futile. Things had changed.

_ "Activating metal gear REX on 3... 2... 1..." _

He waited for the excruciating pain from before, but it never came. He waited for instruction of any kind, an indication that the launch had been purposefully delayed, that this wasn't some sort of bizarre malfunction.

After ten minutes of radio silence, he received his orders.  _ "Exit metal gear REX. We will have to postpone our mission" _ . Snake ripped the plug out of the back of his suit, clambering out of the hatch to survey the chaos below.

The command terminal, where Campbell and any technicians on the mission were to monitor him were surrounded by heavily armed marines. All had their guns trained on a small, trembling man in handcuffs. Dr. Emmerich shook like a leaf; his legs barely seemed to support him and the only thing keeping him upright was the marine who currently had his arm in a vice-like grip.

No one even glanced his way as he rode the lift down to get a closer look. As he approached the Marines started to drag Emmerich away, his feet tripping trying to keep up with their march. As he was dragged from the room, Dr. Emmerich glanced over his shoulder, making eye contact with Snake. Snake expected fear, perhaps even tears, not the determined face that stared back at him. Emmerich nodded once, as if that explained everything. The double doors slid shut behind him with a hiss and a metallic click.

Snake approached the Colonel, standing beside him, hands clasped behind his back, awaiting explanation. When none was forthcoming he cleared his throat. "Sir?" he asked.

"Return to your quarters. This shouldn't take long to sort out,” was the Colonel's brusque reply.

Snake frowned. "I think I'd like an explanation," he grumbled, adding a hasty "sir" when Campbell fixed him with a dark look.

"Emmerich seems to share your passion for self-sabotage," was the Colonel's weary reply before he started towards the door. The heels of dress shoes clicked on the steel floor.

Snake was left with several questions, the first being what the hell had Emmerich done, the second being, why. He turned to follow Campbell, but found he was already gone, the click of his shoes fading rapidly.

There was a public access computer terminal on the far side of the hanger bay. Checking over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being watched, he pulled up a map of the station. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for, and as soon as he did he deleted his history and was on his way there.

It wasn't difficult avoiding patrols. This was not a high-risk station, and anyone coming in or out was either closely monitored or a member of the EAM. He made his way down corridors, using the emergency hatches rather than risk the lifts. It wasn't explicitly stated that he was under house arrest, however, it had been implied he should make himself scarce. He doubted the Colonel would appreciate his snooping.

The brig itself was not heavily guarded. They only had one prisoner, as far as Snake was aware, and he doubted they were going to cause much trouble. Slipping past the tired marine, likely doing duty here as a punishment, and under the camera, he found himself in a small room with two steel doors. They were secured with both pin-pad and keycard locks. Fortunately, this was an older station and he wouldn’t need either of those to talk to the cell’s occupant. He peered through the small, barred window of the only one with a green light above it indicating occupancy.

He knocked, watching as Emmerich’s head jerked up and spun around wildly, looking for the source of the noise. His eyes widened considerably when he caught sight of Snake. He opened his mouth to call out to him but Snake shushed him, raising a finger to his own lips.

“ Quiet.” Snake beckoned him closer, “Come here.” Emmerich readily obeyed. He seemed almost elated, a stark contrast to his red-rimmed eyes and damp cheeks.

He approached the door, his fingers wrapping around the bars of the window. “I hoped you’d come.” He smiled, but with his bloodshot eyes, it made him look slightly crazed. “I had to show you, I had to prove to you that I was on your side.”

“What the hell did you do?” Snake demanded, eyes narrowed. Emmerich’s smile faltered slightly.

“ The right thing," he said, his voice shook but his eyes were hard and determined. "They can't do this to you, Snake. I won't let them."

Forgetting himself for a moment, Snake slammed his fist on the door. Emmerich jumped back, shocked by Snake’s open display of rage. “Are you an idiot?” Snake hissed, after glancing around to make sure no one had come running at the noise. “You’re going to get yourself killed doing this.”

Emmerich shook his head. “They need me. They can’t operate REX without me, I made sure.” Despite his words, the doctor sounded less than sure. He rubbed his forearm, head bent, but glancing up at Snake through his shaggy hair.

“They’ll hurt people — people you care about,” Snake insisted. “They’ve done it before and they’ll do it again.”

Emmerich’s head snapped up at that, but his wide eyed gaze turned soft and almost sad after a moment. “It’s a good thing I’m on my own then,” he shook his head. “Why are you telling me all this?”

Snake jerked back from the door. Why was he telling him all this? Why was he even here? He only risked his own neck by coming down here to ask questions he already knew the answers to. Emmerich was naive and idealistic. He also knew Emmerich had shut down REX for him. He hadn’t for any of the other pilots, the others who tested the machine, but he had for him.

“ I—” he started, but stopped when he realized he had no idea what he would say. If it was like he said and he had no friends, no family, then what would they do? Would the torture him? He didn’t seem like the kind of man that would stand up well under that kind of treatment. EAM was not the creature it used to be. It was more brutal now, a result of this bloody war.

When Snake looked back in the cell, Emmerich’s face both scared and hopeful, he knew what he came here to do.

“I’m getting you out of here,” said Snake, leaning down to examine the lock.

“You’re—”

“Quiet,” ordered Snake. “Let me concentrate.”

“I know how to open it,” Emmerich interrupted anyways. Snake glanced up, exasperated until Emmerich’s words registered. Emmerich glanced around. “Look, if you’re going to do this now, just follow my instructions and we’ll have this door open a lot faster.”

 

* * *

 

  
If Snake had let his pride win out they would have lost a precious ten minutes at least. Snake had Dr. Emmerich by the sleeve and was dragging him along the corridor, pulling him into doorways and down halls to avoid any Marines, on or off duty. Snake had no way of knowing if the situation with REX was common knowledge yet, but he was not letting their nascent escape operation fail just because some off-duty recruit happened to spot them.

There were a few close calls but Snake managed to get them both back to his quarters. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed Emmerich was missing from his cell, or they found the trussed up marine that they’d left in his place. They would have to act quickly if this had any chance of success. Snake took a moment to grab the basics: his pistol that he’d been surprised he’d been allowed to keep, his credit chip, and his tablet. He quickly stripped out of his EVA suit, pulling on a set of civilian clothes that had been sent from his home on Earth, jeans, a t-shirt, and a ragged leather jacket.

Zipping up his jacket, he noticed Emmerich’s eyes were cast to the floor, his face a rather alarming shade of pink, starting at his neck and ending at the tips of his ears. He supposed military life had left him desensitized to… well, naked men. Emmerich’s eyes didn’t once glance up as far as he could tell, and Snake would have felt bad if he weren’t fighting the overwhelming urge to tell him to grow up. They didn’t have time for mocking. Snake stood and gestured for Emmerich to do the same.

“Where exactly are we going? What do you even plan on doing?” asked Emmerich, his face still red but he had unglued his eyes from his feet.

‘I don’t know,’ He almost said, but he held back. He had to be in control of this, for the doctor’s sake if not his own. ‘Rescue Emmerich’ had been his general plan, but the particulars of the situation he’d been ignoring in favor of focusing on the present tasks. He’d really done it, hadn’t he…? He supposed there was no turning back anymore — somehow he’d become responsible for this man’s fate, perhaps he had from the moment he’d rescued him.

“I was thinking we should steal a shuttle, take it planetside, and try and lose them in the crowd?” Snake wished he felt as sure as he sounded. This whole thing was completely crazy. “I figure once we lose them for sure, we can grab a transport somewhere else… after that… we can figure it out from there.”

“We?” Emmerich asked, his eyes wide and bright.

“I— you wouldn’t last a minute out there,” Snake justified. “I said I’d get you out of here and I meant it. You saved me, I’ll save you, quid pro quo.”

“And after?” Snake didn’t like the way Emmerich’s voice sounded, that desperate hope again.

“I said we can figure it out when we get there. Now, let’s move. We’re running out of time.” Emmerich nodded, standing up.  

Snake opened the door, peering around the corner before gesturing for Emmerich to follow. They'd been lucky so far, but the closer they got to the hangar bay, the harder this would get. Snake kept his hand on his pistol, hoping that he wouldn't have to use it too soon.

Snake froze when he heard footsteps approaching. He threw himself at Emmerich, propelling them both into the nearest doorway, a single occupancy washroom. The door slid shut behind them and Snake immediately felt claustrophobic. Stations such as this one were not known for their comfort, instead built for practicality and efficiency. The cubicle was hardly large enough for the toilet and sink, let alone two men, especially one as large as Snake. Dr. Emmerich stood with one leg on either side of the toilet bowl, arms splayed out, pressing against the wall to stay balanced. Snake was even less fortunate, forced to lean forwards to avoid being jabbed in the back by the sink. He had one arm on either side of Emmerich's head to keep them from toppling into one another.

They couldn't have been in there more than twenty seconds, but it felt like an hour. Emmerich's arms and legs wobbled as he tried to stay upright. The footsteps outside slowed in front of the door and Snake heard a quiet curse. He let out a slow breath. The marine must have seen the occupied light was on. Snake waited until the footsteps faded, and then some, before pushing himself off the wall and opening the door. He grabbed Emmerich by the arm, tugging him upright and out into the corridor. Emmerich was red-faced and breathing in short quick huffs.

"Let's go," Snake ordered.

They had to take a few detours to avoid off duty Marines, but it didn't lose them much time. It was only about a hundred feet from the hangar door that the loudspeakers crackled to life and an unfamiliar voice barked, “Be alert. Do not allow Dr. Emmerich or the soldier known as Solid Snake to leave the station. You are authorized to use force."

"Shit," Snake swore, gripping Emmerich's sleeve even tighter. It was a good thing he did, because moments later two marines emerged from the hangar bay, guns drawn. Snake threw Emmerich against the wall and his own body in front of him, surprising the Marines with a barrage of blaster fire. Snake grabbed Emmerich and ran at them, not giving them a moment to get their bearings. They were unconscious by the time Snake reached the doors.

He set Emmerich to work on the locks, covering him as another set of marines sprinted around the corner, drawn by the noise from his earlier assault. He cursed his luck when the doors slid open to find more marines lying in wait. Caught off guard, Snake took a glancing hit to the ribs before he could return fire. If the blow had been a direct hit he would be unconscious at least. As it was he was, he let out a pained shout and was knocked backwards. He fired back, taking out both his attackers with direct chest shots. At this range, there were bound to be complications when they woke, but at this point damaging his former coworkers was the least of his concerns.

Pulling Emmerich forward, he ran for cover behind a nearby control console. The nearest shuttle was another hundred feet with no cover in between. It would be a straight sprint and judging by how Emmerich was wheezing, Snake wasn't sure he'd make it.

Movement behind him. From his crouched position Emmerich had reached over the console and was fiddling with something on one of the screens.

"What the hell are you doing," Snake growled, firing another volley at the trio of pilots aiming at their current position from behind shuttles. Snake swore when he only managed to hit one of them.

"Making sure they can't shut the blast doors once we get our shuttle." He sounded a little less out of breath, a good sign. "I'm also catching my breath," he said, as if reading Snake's mind.

Snake nodded and let him get back to work. Firing a shot at the unfortunate marine that tried to get them from the door. His blaster was running out of charge — soon it would be little more use than a bug zapper. They needed to get to that shuttle and fast. The remaining pilots were closing on them quickly and it was all Snake could do to keep them at bay and cover the door. They were just lucky the hangar bay had been cleared after the failed REX launch that afternoon.

"Hurry up Doctor, I can't hold them off forever."

"Almost..." came Emmerich's desperate reply. "Got it!” he cheered.

"Good." Snake grabbed his arm and, putting his body between Emmerich and the pilots, he unleashed his last bit of blaster charge on the pilots, who ducked back behind their shuttles for cover.

Emmerich barely made it the last 20 feet to their shuttle, Snake practically dragging him. He threw Emmerich into the shuttle, pulling the door down shut behind them. Emmerich, though short of breath, seemed to at least have a sense of urgency, dragging himself to the console to raise shields and get the engine running. Emmerich was already seated in the co-pilot’s chair when Snake hopped down into the pilot's seat. Emmerich was good. All Snake had to do was take the controls, backing them up and out of the stall. He felt the telltale shudder of the magnets holding the shuttle in place released, then another series of vibrations as blaster fire peppered the hull.

As Emmerich had predicted, he could see the pilots moving to the control console that he and Emmerich had hidden behind, likely attempting to shut them in. More marines had poured in through the door, firing on them.

As soon as he had the shuttle turned the right way around, he accelerated towards and through the shimmering oxygen field that was everything between them and the vacuum and freedom.

The shuttle shuddered violently as it was struck with a blast from a defense turret. Shields were up, but if he wasn’t careful, their journey could be cut very short. More than likely the base would be aiming for their thrusters.

“ Emmerich, can you disable the tracking on the shuttle?” Snake demanded. They were beginning to accelerate, but they were taking hits and if their shields went down, it would be dangerous to try and enter Mars’ atmosphere.

“On it!” Emmerich called back, already prying a piece off of the dashboard.

They pulled further away. Snake could see three shuttles launching behind them. Too slow; they’d never catch up. But it wouldn’t matter if their very transport was a beacon calling the EAM right to them.

Shields were at forty percent. The entire cabin rocked after another direct hit. Snake sped up, rocketing towards Mars faster than was strictly advisable so close to a planet. If he pulled far enough ahead, he could lose them close to the surface.

“Got it!” Emmerich called. “Tracking disabled.”

It was all Snake needed to accelerate one final time, much too fast for any normal pilot to make an atmospheric entry. But Snake was not a normal pilot, and if he pulled far ahead fast enough, they may assume that he and his fellow escapee were headed elsewhere. He pinned his hopes on that and grit his teeth, ignoring Emmerich’s startled cry when he saw how quickly the planet’s surface was coming up to meet them.

He checked navigation one final time before turning to Emmerich.

“Hold on,” he said, and it was his only warning before the runners hit the dry surface of the planet. They shredded as friction stripped layers of heat resistant metal. Snake and his copilot were thrown forwards when they finally gave out, ruined metal crumpling under the weight of its load. The nose of the craft hit the dirt and Snake could feel where his seatbelt would leave bruises.

When their ship finally skidded to a halt, he could hear Emmerich breathe a shaky sigh of relief. Snake unbuckled his harness, rolling his shoulders and entering the code to open the side hatch. When it didn’t budge, he growled, making his way to the back and burning his fingers on the handle, still hot from their atmospheric entry. He kicked the hatch out when he couldn’t get it to open far enough. They wouldn’t be using this shuttle again. 

 

The air that entered the shuttle was cold, counterintuitive to the desert appearance of the planet. Even terraformed the temperature hardly ever rose over fifteen degrees celsius this far from the equator, and it certainly wasn’t summer where they had landed. Snake estimated it was a little above freezing, not including wind chill. He glanced back at Emmerich, still wearing nothing but his lab coat. They’d warm up once they started walking.   

Stepping out onto the red surface, he looked back at his copilot. Dr. Emmerich was white as a sheet and his hands shook as he undid his harness. He stumbled into the back and towards the exit. Snake propped a leg on the edge of the ruined runner and offered a hand to his unsteady companion. “Welcome to Mars, Dr. Emmerich,” he said. “You ready to get a move on?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually speaking of illustrations do you guys like having those? They're really fun to do but if they're not really adding anything let me know.


	5. Act One: Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otacon is horrifically out of shape and Snake really doesn't like talking about his dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the Kudos and comments! I really appreciate every single one, it make me feel a lot less like I'm yelling into the void about how Snake and Otacon totally want to kiss and also giant robots. There's an illustration this week, because I actually remembered my days of the week and scheduled myself enough time to actually draw. I've been really excited about getting to this chapter so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

In the end, they left the shuttle, walking the remaining ten kilometers to Mars Colony 1. Emmerich lagged, exhausted from their earlier sprint. The terrain was uneven to say the least — high, rocky hills followed by steep pebbled valleys. On more than one occasion he had to catch Emmerich to stop him from tumbling down slopes. The fall probably wouldn't kill him, but if this was Emmerich hale and healthy, Snake dreaded to think what their journey would be like hampered by a twisted ankle.

When EAM ships loomed too close to the ground, he and Emmerich were forced to find cover wherever they could, pressed against rocky outcroppings or hidden in the shadows of boulders. He doubted the Marines would waste resources actually searching the planet's surface when they could just put the colonies on high alert. However, Snake hadn’t survived for as long as he had by being careless, so he ignored Emmerich’s protests every time he grabbed his arm to yank him under cover.     

About halfway through Emmerich started to complain. Snake grit his teeth as Emmerich 'jokingly' asked for the third time if maybe they should have taken the shuttle.

Snake spun around to face him, fists clenched. "You want to bring the entire force of the Marines down on our heads, why don't you go back for it?” Snake's breathing was heavy, but with frustration rather than exhaustion — unlike his companion, who wiped his brow with the back of his hand, smearing red dirt across his forehead instead of clearing away the sweat.

At Snake's angry outburst, Emmerich shrunk, his shoulders hunched up to his neck. "Sorry," was his only response. Snake immediately felt guilty. They were both tired and on edge.

"Do you need me to carry you?" Snake joked, attempting to break the tension.

Emmerich shook his head. "Another kilometer of this," he gestured to the steep incline they were only about halfway up, "and I might just take you up on that."

Snake allowed himself a tight smile. He could see the edges of the colony drawing closer, the city itself already large, casting long shadows on the red dirt. The final kilometers were much gentler than the last five, but exhausted as Emmerich was, Snake wasn't sure it would make much difference. Again, he cursed himself for not thinking this through. He was a soldier, good on his feet. Emmerich was soft and sedentary and he made a poor companion for this particular leg of their journey.

"Come on," said Snake, "if we want to make it before the sun sets, we should hurry."

When Emmerich fell the first time, Snake simply offered him a hand, pulling him to his feet and slowing his pace to match the laboured stumble that Emmerich passed for walking. The second time he fell, Snake slowed again, this time keeping a firm grip on Emmerich's arm. The third time, when his legs buckled under him and he sunk to his knees, nearly dragging them both down the the hill they were partway down, Snake threw him over his shoulder, despite protests, until they were on more even ground. Dropping Emmerich to his feet, he gave him a choice. He could swallow his pride and climb on Snake’s back, or he could argue and spend the last few kilometers slung over Snake's shoulder.

The choice was not a difficult one. Snake crouched low to allow Emmerich to clamber onto his back. He gripped Emmerich's thighs to keep his burden from slipping and felt a damp forehead rest on the back of his neck. They were going to make it. He glanced up at the sky. He could see several ships overhead, but none of them seemed to be coming towards them, though some did bear the EAM logo. So close. He made sure he had a tight grip on Emmerich. His arms were tight across Snake’s chest now, but he could already feel his grip loosening and he didn’t want to drop him.

“You ready to go?” Snake asked. The only response he got was a tired nod, rubbing against the back of his neck. He shrugged and continued on to the colony 

                                      

 

* * *

 

The outskirts of Mars’ largest colony served as a shanty town. Makeshift homes built from wrecked ship hulls and refuse from the city itself sat crammed side by side, using each other’s walls for support. So many had come from Earth in hope of better opportunities and found that not only was Mars no better off, but that they could not afford the trip home. The colonies should have been a new start, but in the last fifty years had ended up a wasted opportunity, more about territory than prosperity. It wasn’t difficult to understand why the UFP, despite its violent extremism, was rapidly gaining popularity among colonists.  

Inside the city’s official limits, the streets were cleaner, though they did have to dodge several security patrols. It was no wonder the undesirables remained outside the limits. Snake doubted loiterers were tolerated, considering Mars’s main market was tourism.

They had to get out of sight. Outside the city, Snake had realized that Emmerich had fallen asleep, which was concerning considering how out of it he had been before. Snake did have contacts in the city, comrades from the old days, but who he could trust was another question altogether. The fact was, they needed to get off the grid, and Snake couldn’t even risk renting a hotel room until he got a new credit chip and found a way to transfer his funds in a way that was untraceable to EAM’s top intelligence agents. When he considered all that, there was only one person he could think of that could help them.

 

He ducked into another alley just as another set of armed Military patrols passed. Earth had been promising the colonies they would begin setting up a proper police force for the last decade with absolutely no intention of fulfilling it as far as Snake could tell. The struggle with the UFP gave Earth the perfect excuse to continue keeping the colonies under martial law despite several complaints of excessive force and harassment.

The further away Snake got from the outskirts, the lighter the patrols became — though if Snake was remembering correctly, there were still far more than usual on the streets. He made his way to a smaller residential area of the city, avoiding public transit and anywhere with cameras. He also had Cyphers to contend with. They flew high above the buildings and Snake was grateful for their characteristic droning noise, otherwise he might not have spotted several of them.

He remembered where he was going well enough from his last visit, though it was another hour of walking. By the time he arrived, he felt about as exhausted as Emmerich looked. The house was short and narrow, squashed between two much taller buildings. Its red walls blended in with the rest of its surroundings and it was easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it — Snake assumed that was part of the appeal. He took a moment to make sure they hadn’t been followed, as that would defeat the purpose of his asking for help. After catching his breath, he shifted Emmerich, which got him a soft groan in response, and used his free hand to knock on the door.

At first there was no response. He sighed and tried again. He hoped it wasn’t his presence that was preventing an answer. The last time he and the house’s occupant had parted ways, it hadn’t ended well. He was about to give up when the door slid open just a crack. Snake tried to smile, but in his state it felt like more of a grimace. The door slid the rest of the way open and Snake found himself standing in front of a man he once called a mentor.

“Master Miller,” said Snake, “can I come in?”

Snake couldn’t see Miller’s eyes behind his sunglasses, but he could see his eyebrows raise, the corners of his mouth turned down. Wordlessly, Miller stepped aside, gesturing for Snake to come in. As Snake passed him, he saw Miller peer out the door, checking, as Snake had, for any pursuers. Only once the door slid shut did Snake feel he could breathe again.

The house was small. From the entryway, Snake could see down a short narrow hall with two archways on either side, one connecting to a living room and the other to a kitchen. At the end of the hall, a flight of stairs led down into a basement, and another led up to where Snake assumed the bedroom and bathroom were located.

“Follow me,” said Miller, making his way towards and then down the basement stairs. Snake dutifully followed. Emmerich let out another grumble as he was jostled on the way down the stairs. That he still hadn’t woken up was starting to worry Snake.

Miller led them down into a small, windowless rec room. A couch was pushed against the far wall and Snake took the opportunity to set down his burden. Emmerich hardly stirred, only letting out another groan, not opening his eyes. He was filthy, covered head to toe in red dirt, his hands scratched and his arms bruised from his earlier tumbles. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. Snake took his glasses off, putting them on the end table beside his head.

Miller leaned against the wall opposite the couch, arms crossed. Snake turned to face him but suddenly his own legs felt weak. He gingerly sat down on one of the couch armrests while Miller continued to stare.

Finally, Snake cleared his throat, “I should explain—”

“No need,” MIller interrupted, “EAM already called me.” Snake tensed, his hands curled into fists and before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet again, ready to spring. Miller chuckled and shook his head, “I’m not turning you in — not yet anyways, not until I hear what you have to say for yourself.” Snake was still tense but forced himself to sit back down. “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

Miller had an actual honest to god coffee machine, none of the synthesized crap Snake was used to. He made them both a cup and Snake savoured his. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had real coffee like this, probably the last time he’d seen Miller. Snake kept glancing back at Emmerich until Miller caved and gave him a once over. Nothing to be concerned about, he told Snake, exhaustion and dehydration. Milled watched as Snake attempted to force water down Emmerich’s throat, then, with a frustrated noise, he stood and grabbed an IV needle and bag out of a metal chest under the side table. Snake was forced to awkwardly hold the bag above Emmerich while Miller inserted the needle.

With Snake’s arm balanced on the back of the couch to keep the bag above Emmerich, he began to explain their current situation. He started with his abduction from his home on Earth, and ended with the last few hours’ trek to Mars Colony 1. Miller said nothing during his explanation, simply nodded. When Snake finished, Miller stood, walking until Snake was within arm’s reach, and slapping him upside the head. It hurt more than it should — he’d hit with his prosthetic arm and the metal parts were hard under the layers of silicone flesh.

“You’ve really fucked yourself, Snake.”

Snake shook his head. “I know,” Snake said, as Miller sat back down.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.” Snake raised an eyebrow, then frowned at Miller’s morose expression. “But you’re not doing the smart thing, and it’s more likely to get you killed than anything else.”

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing,” said Snake. “How can I be doing the right thing when I’m not doing anything?”

“You saved him.” Miller nodded to Emmerich. “That’s a start. And I think you do know what you’re doing, you don’t want to say it yet because you don’t want to visualize the Sisyphean task ahead.”

“I can’t end this war,” Snake insisted.

“You’re not going to,” replied Miller. “I know you. You’re like a bullet. You need someone to point you in the right direction, and you’re an unstoppable force. Lately you haven’t been too keen on the men with their fingers on your trigger. It looks to me like you just went and found yourself a new marksman.”

“You mean Emmerich.” Snake’s frown deepened. “I think you’re misunderstanding—”

“From what I can gather, he wants to stop what he’s set in motion, right?” Snake nodded, crossing his arms. “He looks like a smart guy. If he’s anything like his father, he’ll have a plan soon enough, but he’ll need someone to implement it. I think you want to be the guy to do that.”

“Shouldn’t you be discouraging this?” asked Snake. Miller’s lips stretched into a small, thin smile. With the overhead light reflecting just right, Snake could see his eyes behind his sunglasses, lids half-shut, tired, sad.

“Probably.”

Snake waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, he readied himself to say what had been on his mind since he arrived.

"Last time we parted ways—“

"I should have told you," Miller interrupted, "I shouldn't have kept that from you. It was selfish and self-serving."

"I don't follow." Snake frowned. Miller looked about to answer when Emmerich let out a low groan. Snake turned and saw him crack open his bleary eyes and cast them around the room. Emmerich tensed until his eyes landed on Snake.

"Did I fall asleep?" he mumbled, and despite himself, Snake laughed.

"Something like that." The IV bag was about half-empty and Emmerich was looking much better. He pushed himself into a sitting position, glancing down at the needle when it tugged in his arm.

"Was it bad?" His voice was high and anxious. He glanced around. “Where are my glasses?"

Snake reached across him, grabbing his glasses from the side table, pressing them into his hand. Emmerich put them on, then upon realizing the lenses were coated in dirt, wiped them on his shirt. They were still quite filthy but having them on seemed to have a calming effect on him.

"Where are we?" asked Emmerich, his eyes landing on Miller, across the room.

"Safe," answered Miller, before Snake could, "for the time being."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Emmerich demanded, then grabbed his head, "O-oh geez…” Suddenly he looked pale.

"What's going on? Are you alright?" Snake had a hand on his shoulder, turning Emmerich to face him, his other hand still holding the IV bag with his elbow braced on the back of the couch.

“I—I don't feel so… O—oh..." Emmerich squeezed his eyes shut.

"You should lie down again," Snake insisted. He used his free hand to guide Emmerich back down. "Go back to sleep. I'll deal with getting us off planet."

"Us..." Emmerich mumbled, his face half covered by a couch cushion.

Snake doubted Emmerich would fall asleep right away but he plucked his glasses back off his face anyway, which got him only a half-hearted grumble in response that might even have been a thank you if it weren't so garbled. He folded them and placed them gently back on the side table.

When he turned back to face Miller, he found his old master staring intently at him, chin resting in one hand. Snake felt immediately defensive, though of what he wasn't sure.

"I think we have a conversation to finish," said Miller, as the silence between them began to get uncomfortable. Snake nodded once, eyes narrowing in confusion as he saw Miller sigh, deflating.

"Why didn't you tell me Big Boss was my father?" Snake asked, much gentler than the last time he'd asked, five years ago.

"I needed you to give one hundred percent. I couldn't have you harbouring any doubts." Miller paused then, taking a slow breath. "Because if you had hesitated, even for a second, I could never have let you complete the mission."

"What I don't understand is why," pressed Snake, knowing there must be more to the story. “You hated Big Boss. You called him a monster, a demon."

"He wasn't always." It was enough of a confession to give Snake pause.

"You knew him, not just as an enemy—“

"But as an ally," finished Miller, "a friend."

"But you betrayed him. You helped me kill him." It was the wrong choice of words and Snake saw it in Miller's flinch, in the way he cast his eyes down.

"I know."

"So you used me," Snake concluded.

"Yes, and it keeps me up at night, wondering if things could have been different, if he could have been saved." Miller took off his sunglasses, rubbing the corners of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.  "I loved him," said Miller, "and I keep reminding myself he was never the man I wanted him to be, but—“ Miller's eyes squeezed shut, his jaw tense. "I'll never know what could have been, we all played our parts and that's the end of it. All I know is that working with Big Boss, it was the only time I'd ever worked for something I believed in."

Snake waited for Miller to collect himself, waited for his old master to put his sunglasses back on before he responded.

“You should have told me.”

“You’re right,” said Miller, “but it’s done, it’s in the past, and right now you can’t afford to be at odds with me.”

Snake nodded grudgingly. “So will you help us?” Miller rested his chin on folded hands, quiet for so long Snake was scared he would say no.

“I have connections. I can get you off planet. Not sure where you’ll end up, but it’ll be away from here, hopefully undetected.” Snake couldn’t hide his relieved sigh. “I’ll need your credit chip and tablet. I’ll see if I can get someone to look at them, change over your accounts and the ID codes so—”

“I can do it.” Both Miller and Snake were startled by the small voice. Emmerich’s eyes were still closed, his face still quite pale. “Leave the computer stuff to me. One less person who knows who we are” Emmerich cracked one eye open. “Right?”

He was right, and Snake nodded. “While you get us transport, I’ll set him to work. We’ll be ready to go by the time you get back.”

Miller stood. “Any requests as to where you want to end up?”

“At least to the outer planets. I’d say somewhere neutral but—”

“Yeah, no one’s neutral anymore. I’ll see what I can do.”

At Emmerich’s request, Miller brought him a small box of tools before he left. Snake didn’t actually know the names of most of them, and by the looks of things, neither did Miller. He set the box beside the couch before leaving with explicit instructions to stay in the basement and away from any windows.

Snake heard the door shut. They were alone, for the time being at least. He glanced down at Emmerich, still laying on his side, eyes just cracked open, staring right back at Snake.

“Hey,” said Snake, patting Emmerich’s leg. “Are you ready to do this?”

“I—yeah,” Emmerich attempted to push himself up on his elbows, immediately went sheet white, and then flopped back down.

“Don’t push yourself. Give it another minute,” ordered Snake. The IV bag was empty and he reached for the needle in Emmerich’s arm. Emmerich flinched and shut his eyes. “Don’t like needles?” Snake asked.

Emmerich nodded. “Just make it quick.” He shut his eyes, turning away as Snake tugged the needle out in one swift movement. Emmerich winced, letting out a small hiss of protest. Snake dumped the bag on the floor, pulling apart the needle and placing it in the sharps disposal Miller had provided.

Looking over at Emmerich, Snake could see he was still ghostly pale. Stress and exhaustion were both taking their toll and the adrenaline wouldn’t be conducive to rest. Emmerich crossed his arms over his face, letting out a pained groan.

“Give it another minute,” Snake said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice. “Miller will be a while. We’ve got time.”

“This is my fault. If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t even in this situation… _you_ wouldn’t be in this situation.” Snake could still see Emmerich’s mouth, lips pressed together, corners twitching down. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have listened when they told me to just build. I thought it was too good to be true and I was right.”

“What you did doesn’t matter right now,” said Snake, letting his hand hover for a moment over Emmerich’s leg before letting it drop, giving him a reassuring pat. “I’m not saying it won’t in the future, but right now we have to deal with the present. I need you focused because I don’t know shit about computers and if we’re going to survive the next twenty-four hours, we need a working credit chip and a way to access the internet without being traced. That’s up to you.”

“You saved my life.” Snake turned to look back down at Emmerich. Emmerich lowered his arms from his face and looked up at Snake with wide eyes. “Twice. You’ve saved my life twice, and all I’ve done is cause you trouble.”

“And now I need your help to get us out of trouble.” Snake didn’t bother trying to dismiss Emmerich’s claims. He wasn’t wrong. If he hadn’t have built REX, if he hadn’t caused the commotion earlier, if this… if that… the list could go on forever. Snake didn’t have forever — he had about half an hour and a newly instilled sense of urgency. He’d figure out what the hell to do with Emmerich once he made sure EAM wouldn’t get their hands on him again.

  
“Can you sit up now? Here let me…” He reached down and grabbed Emmerich’s forearm, letting Emmerich do most of the work, but acting at a support when needed. This time his face retained some of its colour. If anything, Emmerich’s face was flushed when Snake let go of his arm.

“Ah— I… I’ll need your tablet first, and then the chip,” Emmerich stammered. “Can you pass me your friend’s tools? I should— ah… get to work.”

Emmerich still seemed a bit unsteady, so Snake sat beside him on the couch while he worked, passing him tools as requested, though Emmerich would have to describe them so Snake could pick them out. Screwdrivers were all well and good but some of the weird contraptions with fifteen different coloured wires were beyond what Snake ever had to learn in basic.

Emmerich, for the most part, worked in silence. His brows furrowed together in concentration. Snake appreciated the quiet. It gave him time to think. About their next move, they would have to lay low for a time, let things settle. From there? He wasn't sure he was ready to think about that. Rescuing Emmerich had been as much an act of self-preservation as it had been a philanthropic one. Emmerich had just saved him the trouble of making the decision for himself. He wasn’t ready to thank him just yet, though.

Miller returned some time after Emmerich finished working on the credit chip. He’d moved Snake’s funds though several dummy accounts before re-routing them to the credit chip, promising Snake untraceable access to his money.

“Did you kids stay out of trouble?” asked Miller, sitting down in a folding chair with an exhausted sigh.  

“Emmerich figured everything out with the credit chip so we’re good to go. Did you manage to get us transport?”

Miller nodded. “Ever been to Ganymede?”

“Not in a long time. I think I forgot to pack my parka in the rush, though. Who has it right now?” Snake frowned. Ganymede… the last time he’d been there, it had been with his platoon, with _him._ It was where… no, he wouldn’t think on it, not now.

“It’s under UFP control now. They pushed Earth Alliance off a year or so back. It was a tough fight, though, from what I heard. ‘Dunno if they would have won if there hadn’t been mass defections.”

“Defections, huh.” Snake’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I found a guy smuggling some medical supplies up there. Two deserter runaways shouldn’t be too much more trouble.”

Snake nodded. It was good, better than he could ever have hoped to do on his own.

“Thank you.” He reached out, placing a hand on Miller’s shoulder.

“You need to get out of their hands before they ruin you for good. You—” Miller paused and swallowed. “You can do things differently, both of you, you could change things. Big Boss had a vision once, a vision I supported with all my heart. I want you to have the chance to finish what he never got a chance to even start.”

“I never said I was going to save the star system,” Snake insisted. What Miller was asking him to do… no, not even asking, _expecting, demanding._

“He’s right, Snake,” said Emmerich in a quiet voice. “At the time, I was focused on the smaller picture, stopping them from hurting you, but— but we could really help people. We could stop what I’ve created, and we could do so much more than that. Don’t you see? We’ve got the perfect opportunity.”

Snake’s chest was too tight, this was… it was so much, too much to ask. There was too much riding on this, if he started this and failed. What was he anyways, a washed up renegade who had to drink to fall asleep? What good was he to anyone?

“I understand why you left, Snake,” said Miller. “What they did do you, no, what _we_ did to you… You should stay gone, but why not do some good as well?”

“I’m stopping what I started, whether you help me or not, but…” Emmerich hesitated. “I could use your help.”

He really could, Snake grimaced. Emmerich wouldn’t last five minutes without his help, not after the stunts Snake had seen him pull. He seemed to have some sort of self-preservation instinct, so the only conclusion Snake could reach was that he was a goddamn idiot, even for a genius.

“Let’s get to Ganymede,” Snake grunted, “then we can talk.” He looked over at Miller. “No one will follow us?”

“After everything that’s happened, I at least owe you my silence.”

Snake nodded. Even after everything, he still trusted Miller. He’d keep his word. There was no doubt about that.

“Can you walk alright now?” Snake asked, glancing over at Emmerich who still kept a tight grip on his shoulder.

Emmerich nodded, pulling his hand away. “I’m okay now.” He turned to Miller. “Thank you.” For what, Snake couldn’t be certain, but an understanding seemed to pass between them and Miller’s lips twisted into a sort of rueful smile.

“Your ship is waiting for you at Bay A3. You’d better hurry. The captain is not a patient man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is where things actually start to happen? Tune in next week for one of my signature slow chapters, just so like I don't over excite myself by actually having the plot happen.


	6. Act One: Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon talk about trust and Snake goes shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry about the delay with this chapter, I've been sitting on it for like a month even though it was completely edited because if i'm being honest I hate it and was embarrassed to post it. Which is super unfair to you guys so I am sorry about that. I'm going to try and go back to a weekly schedule because the next few chapters I am fond of so hopefully I won't be plagued by weird self consciousness again. Again please forgive me for the delay and thank you so much for your patience.

Emmerich stumbled a little on his way up the stairs, but after grabbing Snake’s offered arm he seemed steady enough to make the trek across town. Miller offered them a ride in his beat - up electric car, but Snake refused. He’d risked enough already, and if they were seen together he didn’t want to think about what kind of repercussions that could have for his old mentor.

They caught the monorail from the station a few blocks from Miller’s home, the final stop being the space-port. Emmerich squashed into the last seat beside a tired mother and her toddler, whose flailing limbs kept smacking him. Snake stood in front of him, the car so full their knees were jammed together, using his back to shield them from the cameras attached to the doors.

The train was hot despite the air conditioning, the windows fogging. Every passenger was shiny faced and red cheeked. Many of them were trying to remove layers, elbowing other irritated passengers. Mars was a fucking shithole.

Despite the fluids and brief respite they’d had at Miller’s, Emmerich looked like he’d been kicked down a flight of stairs and then left there. Still, he looked up at Snake, giving him a haggard but hopeful smile. Snake found himself smiling back, despite himself. It wasn’t a look he was familiar with receiving, and Emmerich’s trust was all at once gratifying and frightening.

Under the his tired eyes and bruised exterior, there was something bright about Dr. Emmerich. He still had that childish naivete Snake had long abandoned before he was Emmerich’s age and a pathological need to be trusted. He led by example — he’d handed Snake his life, making it damn near impossible to say no to him. Emmerich needed him, and though he was loathe to admit it, it was… good. Emmerich wanted to save the system, or something like it. At the very least, Snake could keep him from getting captured again. He could keep that brilliant mind out of the wrong hands. It was, as Miller had said, the right thing to do, and he did like the sound of that.

  
  


They arrived at the port within half an hour. They didn't have any luggage, just what they’d managed to carry off the station. Both were glad to be off the crowded train — Snake because he didn’t like the idea of being seen by that many people; Emmerich just seemed uncomfortable with crowds.

The captain was an elderly Mars colonist, old enough to have been born on Earth and still have spent most of his life on the red planet. His parents had been Vietnamese, he told them, but they’d come to Mars, like everyone else had, looking for a new start, away from the overcrowded cities of his youth. Fat lot of good it had done any of them.

He stuck them in the back with the cargo, a couple blankets, and a warning that the engine was a bit rumbly. The ship certainly wasn’t built for carrying passengers. Trapped between boxes of medical supplies and dummy boxes in case the ship was searched, they settled in on the metal floor, blankets wrapped around their shoulders.

The ship itself was hardly larger than a shuttle, and as they soon discovered, had only been designed for two passengers: the pilot and co-pilot. The back, which was about ten metres long and five wide, was built exclusively for cargo. Meaning it was colder than the ninth circle of hell.

It was going to be at least three days to Ganymede, the Martian had informed them — longer if they had to dodge Alliance patrols. About an hour in, Emmerich started to shiver, pulling his blanket tighter around himself. Snake was only able to watch for another hour before he had to step in. By this time Emmerich was practically convulsing, his teeth chattering together only slightly quieter than the ancient engine under their feet.

“Move back,” Snake ordered. Emmerich had wedged himself between two crates, his head leaning against the plastic, his lips blanched white. He lifted his head, frowning as Snake approached.

“Hm?”

“Scoot back, this is painful to watch.” Emmerich did as he was told, moving until his back was resting against the hull. Snake wedged in beside him, rearranging their blankets so they could double up, both blankets slung over their shoulders and closed around the front. Emmerich was stiff beside him as he worked but soon relaxed, shoulder resting against his own. Emmerich’s shudders slowly became shivers and then subsided entirely. Looking down, Snake saw he had closed his eyes and was breathing slowly, not quite asleep but certainly well on his way. Snake couldn’t blame him after the day they’d had. He slid his arm around his shoulders, pulling the kid in closer so he could pillow his head on his chest. Again, Emmerich stiffened and then relaxed once he realized what Snake was doing.

It didn’t take Emmerich long to fall asleep, his breathing slow and steady against Snake, his breath warm through his shirt. He looked about seventeen like this, dark circles under his eyes and pale cheeks, his jaw slack and face squashed against Snake’s chest. He leaned his head back, the rattle of the engine, at first irritating, had become soothing and he found himself drifting. He fell asleep with his head resting on top of Emmerich’s, hair tickling his cheek.

Sleep was all well and good, and at least they were no longer freezing to death, though to say they were warm would be a horrendous overstatement. However, once awake, it was the boredom that started to get to them. Snake had never felt the need for unnecessary chatter, but now, trapped in a metal container hurtling through space with nothing else to do but stare uncomfortably at his travel companion, he wished he’d brushed up on his conversational skills. Emmerich was… twitchy. He kept tapping his fingers on his knee, on the ground. Snake scanned some news sites on his tablet, thankfully seeing nothing about them, but put it away soon after, feeling guilty leaving Emmerich with nothing to do.

“How can you trust me?” Snake demanded after an hour of uncomfortable silence. He hadn’t meant for it to come out as an accusation.

“What do you mean?” Emmerich squeaked, jumping at the voice that broke the silence.

“I mean, you don’t know a damn thing about me, yet you risked your job, your life, just to help me, one pilot out of hundreds. Look where it got you. I’m asking why any sane person would do this for a man they met once.” Snake shook his head as Emmerich stared up at him, eyes wide.

“There wasn’t much thinking going on,” Emmerich admitted, casting his eyes down at his feet. “But you… after what I’d done, what I built, you were the one who suffered the most, so… so it only felt right, I guess. And you saved me.” He looked up at Snake, his gaze steady. “You saved my life and I wanted to repay you.” Emmerich flushed. “Some repayment it turned out to be, though. You just had to rescue me again, huh?” Emmerich ran his fingers through his hair, resting his head in his hands. “I need to make it right. I guess you were the first step, I don’t know. You… you’re a good person. That’s why I trust you. I just want to make it right, and I feel like you do, too.” He glanced up at Snake through his fingers. “Or am I totally wrong?”

“I’m not a good person,” said Snake. All at once his insides felt hollow. Emmerich looked away, face red.

“S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“But you aren’t wrong, I do want to make things right. I want to... “ Snake paused, fingers digging into his knees. “I just haven't had anything to believe in, not in a long time.”

Snake felt a hand on his arm. He looked down to see thin fingers curled around his wrist. “How can you say that and not be good?” Emmerich’s brows were knit together, eyes focused entirely on him. There was something demanding about that gaze, something that made Snake want to live up to Emmerich’s naive expectations.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he replied, tearing his gaze away before he did something stupid, like agreeing with Emmerich.

“I don’t— I don’t care!” Snake had never heard the kid sound so assertive, not even when he was in that cell on the Alliance station. “Whatever it is, whatever you’ve done, that was then, and now, you’re going to make things right.”

Snake could only stare for a moment, shocked at the determination behind Emmerich’s words. “That’s not really how it works, kid,” he said, finally dropping his gaze. “But…” he stopped, not sure if he was ready for his next words to come out of his mouth, to seal the deal. “But if you’ll have me, I’d like to try.”

Emmerich’s face lit up like nothing Snake had ever seen before. All at once, a tear leaked out of the corner of Emmerich’s eye, then another, and another. Soon he was wiping them away with the back of his hand, sniffling but still beaming.

“Jesus, kid.” Snake reached over with the corner of the blanket, wiping his wet, sticky cheeks. “You’d think someone died.”

“I— I just—” Emmerich murmured from behind his hands. “I’m so glad I’m not going to be alone anymore.”

Snake wanted to interrupt, to explain to Emmerich that he was the worst kind of companion, that he was as dangerous as they came. He wanted to tell him about the things he’d done, just so he’d stop looking so overjoyed. It felt wrong somehow, like he was lying to him. But he couldn’t bring himself to break the kid’s heart.

“I wouldn’t abandon you on Ganymede. Have you been there? It’s a shithole. Even I’m not that cruel,” Snake joked, patting Emmerich on the back. Emmerich smiled back at him, wiping the last of the tears from bloodshot eyes. “Why don’t you tell me a little more about how you plan on stopping development on REX?”

 

* * *

  
  


They found a rental on Ganymede that took credits by the week, furnished to boot. Though furnished was a loose descriptor at best. A single room with a futon and a food synthesizer. Not even a fridge or a microwave for organic food, just a port for nutritional mush and a keypad to input a variety of pre-set meals. That was one thing he knew he’d miss about Earth — ready access to real, unsynthesized food. It was just too expensive on the colonies, so much harder to produce, only rich people could afford the shipping costs. There wasn’t even a television. Bedding was folded on the futon, and though it looked old and worn, it at least smelled clean, if not a bit musty. However, the room was almost colder than the ship. Ganymede was a frigid rock and low-income places like this tended to skimp on expensive luxuries like quality heating. The walls were insulated well enough — they’d die otherwise, but that didn’t make the room comfortable.

Snake followed the instructions on the synthesizer to make two cups of strong coffee, hot enough to be scalding. He handed one to Emmerich, who had made himself a nest on the futon with every available linen in the apartment, including the ratty towels from the bathroom and Snake’s own leather jacket. Emmerich drank the coffee slowly, trying to savour the warmth. The tips of his fingers were so white they were almost blue.

Snake was feeling the chill himself, though he was still much better than his civilian companion, who’d never had any sort of training for resisting the elements. “I’ll get us some more weather appropriate clothes,” said Snake once Emmerich was halfway through his coffee and somewhat thawed after their trek outside. “If you give me my jacket back, I’ll go get us some supplies. Any requests?”

“How do people live on this hell moon?” Emmerich whined, shrugging Snake’s jacket off and handing it to him.

“Not everyone is as delicate as you.” Snake smirked.

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Emmerich retorted. “Not everyone can be an action guy like you.”

“Action guy, alright,” Snake laughed and zipped his jacket. 

“Come back soon or all you’re gonna find is a popsicle,” Emmerich sulked, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. He tugged the blanket over his head, reminding Snake of an Eastern European grandmother.

“A real popsicle. Sounds like it would be a welcome change from synthesized garbage.”

“Resorting to cannibalism already? Am I that annoying, or do you hate synthesizers that much?”

“Please. If I was going to eat you, I would have done on that awful frigid shuttle.”

Emmerich just chuckled, his cheeks flushing.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, turning to leave.

“Not going anywhere,” Emmerich replied, sounding slightly more cheerful after their banter, though Snake could still hear the telltale click of his teeth chattering.

He stepped out onto the long balcony that stretched along the seven upper level apartments. The flooring was made of a rubber grip to prevent unfortunate accidents and there were several handrails in case that wasn’t enough. He made his way down the stairs. The lower level patios were set up fairly similar, one long stretch of rubber with another seven doors lined up along it. The manager's office was at the end where it looked like a motel lobby used to be.

Once upon a time, Ganymede was supposed to be a vacation spot. They’d set up ski resorts and planted evergreens when they’d terraformed, but the sub-zero temperatures and the distance from Earth, as well as the cost to run everything had run that idea into the ground, leaving abandoned motels and resorts all over the planet’s surface.

Snake shoved his hands into his pockets, turning his collar up against the wind. Snow crunched under his boots and within a few minutes he felt the cold creep through the fabric and bite at his toes.

It had been a long time since he’d last set foot on the icy moon. He frowned and pushed the memories from his mind. He didn’t have time to dwell on the past, he had other responsibilities now — namely, keeping one engineer alive and out of enemy hands. He kept his eyes focused, glancing at every face he passed. It was unlikely anyone could have followed them there, and even less likely he’d see a familiar face, but it never hurt to be vigilant.

He made it to the outlet store without incident, filling bags with winter clothes and a list of parts Emmerich had requested on their long flight, said he’d need them if he were to do any decent work with Snake’s ancient tablet. He also grabbed a plug-in space heater. Emmerich wouldn’t be able to type if he still couldn’t feel his fingers.

The man at the counter gave him a once-over, looking suspiciously at Snake’s weather-inappropriate attire. “We don’t get many travellers this side of the moon,” he commented, his tone light but his eyes sharp. Snake didn’t like the look of him at all.

“Just passing through. Family emergency, not much time to pack.” Snake gestured at his purchases. The cashier seemed to like that answer, letting the subject drop and ringing Snake through. He paid on his newly modified credit chip, praying it would work. It did, and he reminded himself to tell Emmerich about it when he got back. Snake also resolved to avoid going to that outlet store again, thankful that he’d turned his face from the cameras at the front entrance in case the suspicious cashier tried to look him up. Snake wasn’t sure if he would find anything or not, but it make his stomach turn all the same to think about it.

Outside, he slipped on thermal gloves and a scarf, making his walk back to the apartment a hell of a lot more pleasant than his journey from. His fingers twitched for a cigarette. He hadn’t had one since before his last mission and his body ached for it. He picked up a disposable electronic one from a convenience store as well as a few other necessities, but it just wasn’t the same. It didn’t have the same heat, the same burn.  

Approaching the stairs up to the second level, he ducked behind them when he heard a door on the ground floor swing open. He ducked behind the stairwell, waiting for the other tenant to leave before dashing up the stairs to his own door. The last thing he wanted was to become familiar with any of the building’s residents.

He found Emmerich exactly where he’d left him, knees pulled up to his chin, fingers delicately poking out of the blankets to operate the tablet at his feet.

“I’ve got us an untraceable connection to a satellite. Any shows you need to catch up on?” Emmerich smiled at him as he came in, watching him stomp the snow from his boots onto the ragged carpet.

“Shows?”

“You know, entertainment? Or do you not go in much for fun?” Emmerich prodded.

“Didn’t have satellite in Alaska, didn’t need it,” Snake replied. “Call me old fashioned.”

“I’ll say!” Emmerich’s eyebrows shot up. “You go in for the caveman lifestyle then?”

“That’s gratitude for you, I trek to the store in sub-zero weather and what do I get? Insults.” Snake shook the bag, one of the parka’s poking out of the top.

“Oh! Sorry, I was… um, I was kidding, I didn’t mean to…” Emmerich went quiet, eyes going to his feet.

“So was I?” Snake frowned, the change in attitude was… drastic. “Alright, kid?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine!” Emmerich snapped out of whatever it was almost as quickly as he entered it. “What did you get?”

Snake pulled out the space heater first, plugging it in and aiming it at Emmerich’s feet. He then proceeded to pull out packs of thermal socks and underwear as well as undershirts, gloves,  and of course, the two parkas. They were as insulated as they came, partly made of a synthetic material Snake couldn’t pronounce with double layers of velcro to keep them shut against the wind. The rest was run of the mill clothing. Snake wasn’t sure how long they’d be there, and he’d had to guess at Emmerich’s size, but it would do. He also pulled out the parts Emmerich had requested, placing them beside his companion for inspection.

Emmerich pulled on a pair of socks and gloves immediately, resisting Snake’s suggestion that he change into the thermal underclothes, insisting that would involve taking off what he was currently wearing. He did, however, pull on one of the sweaters Snake had picked up. It was far too large for him, having been one Snake had chosen for himself, but it looked warm at least.

Snake passed Emmerich the parts and tools he’d picked up. “Everything in order, Dr. Emmerich?”

“Y—yeah it’s perfect.” He glanced up at Snake who hovered beside him. “You can, ah, sit down? I’ll show you what I’m doing.” Snake did just that, watching over Emmerich’s shoulder as he pulled the back of the tablet. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Doctor Emmerich’, you know. Hal is fine.”

“Hal, right.” It felt strange in his mouth, too intimate almost, and he dreaded the question he knew would come next.

“So is your name actually ‘Snake’, or…?” Emmerich didn’t look up from his work, but Snake could see his shoulders tense nervously.

“Snake is fine, I… I respond to it better than anything else now,” he lied. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Emmer… Hal. It was that he didn’t know him, which he supposed amounted to the same thing. Like using Hal’s name —it just felt wrong, too close in a way they just weren’t, not yet at any rate. Perhaps if they got to know each other better, it would be different but for the time being, he liked his privacy.

“If you want to use handles, I have one,” Emmerich suggested. “I go by ‘Otacon’ where code names are required.”

“Otacon,” said Snake. It felt better, less formal than Dr. Emmerich, but not as close as his name, “I think I can get used to that.”

“Okay, Snake.” Otacon nodded at him before returning his attention back to the almost entirely dismantled tablet. “Snake and Otacon,” he said quietly, “I think I can get used to that, too.”

Snake let Otacon work. He was never much good with computers, and whatever Emmerich was doing was beyond his understanding. He did, however, hover — determined to learn what he could. Otacon explained he was setting up the tablet to function like a desktop computer, with all the same capabilities and memory capacity. He needed speed if he was going to access the information he needed, at least that was what he said.

“What sort of information are you looking for?” Snake asked.

“I want to see if they have plans for building any more REXs now that you and I have gone AWOL, and if so, where and how. Also, I want to see if they’ve managed to get REX working again, and if they have, I might be able to do some remote sabotage as well.”

Snake crossed his arms. “Do we have an actual plan, or are you just going to do a bit of cyber-terrorism and call it quits?”

“I… what?” Otacon turned to him, mouth open like he’d been slapped.

“On the shuttle over, you explained to me exactly how to take REX apart, how mass production could be started, what sort of tests they might try and run. I figured you’d want to do something more than annoy them and make them change their passwords.”

“So what do you suggest?” Otacon frowned, shifting nervously.

“REX is just a smaller portion of a bigger problem. We gather evidence, make this public. I’m not just talking about the EAM either, we hit the UFP to, so they don’t take advantage of the situation. I don’t know what the UFP did to you, but we can use that, expose both sides for what they really are.” Snake paused for a moment, crossing and then uncrossing his arms. “You… we, we can still cause some havoc, get access to their systems, delay production, but if we don’t have an endgame, we could be at this for the next twenty years and nothing will change.”  

Otacon had a look on his face Snake couldn’t place. His eyes shone as he stared at Snake, mouth still open but this time tilted up at the corners ever so slightly. “You’re amazing,” he said.

“I’ve just seen it from both sides is all,” Snake replied, somewhat bashful of the openly awestruck gaze.

“We’ll start with REX, then,” said Otacon, clearing his throat, it seemed he realized his behaviour was borderline fawning. “We can see what their moves are after that and see if we can counteract it.” Otacon stopped typing for a moment, staring down at his hands. “On that note, there is something I should tell you.”

“Something you should tell me?” Snake repeated, eyes narrowing.

“I… I wasn’t sure at the time, and it all happened so fast,” Otacon began to stammer, words tumbling out of his mouth too quickly. “But I think the UFP might have a copy of REX’s blueprints.”

“And you didn’t say anything while we were on the base because…?” Snake’s tone had become low, dangerous. Otacon’s eyes were wide and startled. He began talking even faster.

“You sort of just showed up, and I wasn’t sure then, and I’d only had my suspicions they’d made copies without me knowing. I’d tried so hard to be careful in case rescue _ did _ come, and then you showed up and it all just... “ Otacon’s chest rose and fell rabbit-fast. His eyes had gone from startled to outright terrified. “I should have told you then, I was just…I was scared you’d leave me behind, that you’d leave me with them.”

“Jesus kid,” Snake rested his face in his hands. “This doesn’t give us a lot of time… if both sides have this technology, they’re going to strike fast. If these things get on the battlefield, I don’t want to think about what this war would look like after.”

“I’m sorry…” Otacon wrapped his arms around himself. His shoulders were pulled up to his ears and he flinched when Snake shifted to look at him.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you,” Snake sighed, seeing the tension in Otacon’s back. Otacon visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. “What the hell happened on that base?”

Otacon snorted, “Nothing I want to think about right now.”

Snake raised his hands in surrender. “Lets just focus on stopping Metal Gear REX from ever seeing active combat.”

Otacon brightened at that. “Give me twenty-four hours. I think I have an idea, but I’ll need some time to figure out the details.”

“Whatever data you get, make sure I get it too. If I’m doing the grunt work, I don’t want to be left in the dark.” Otacon nodded, going back to the tablet.

Snake made some more coffee, then resolved to at least pick up some instant crystals because the garbage the synthesizer was producing was some of the worst crap he’d ever put in his mouth, and he’d eaten army rations. Feeling a little at a loss at what to do, he kept Otacon supplied with hot, but watery caffeine, and set about unpacking his purchases. There were a few wire hangers in a small hall-closet and he hung what he could, leaving the rest folded in their plastic bags.

That took all of twenty minutes and between doing caffeine runs for Otacon he stretched out, doing a few basic exercises to keep himself from going stir-crazy. After about a hundred and fifty push-ups, he felt warm enough to actually strip down to his teeshirt. After five-hundred, he switched to sit-ups and that ended up killing about an hour and a half. Then he was bored again, pacing the tiny room.

He ended up taking a shower, just for something to do, and discovered the hot water was actually pretty decent for such a run-down place. He felt warm in a way he hadn’t since boarding the ship on Mars, and it felt good to be clean. The towels they’d been provided were small and ratty, barely large enough to wrap around his hips, but he felt warm enough to brave the main room to put on clean clothes from the closet.

Exiting the bathroom, Snake made eye contact with Otacon, who had his mouth open to say something, freezing before he could get out the first word. He went red to his ears, turning back to the tiny screen in his lap. Snake snorted derisively. If they were going to live in close quarters like this, Otacon would have to either grow up or spend the next however long very flustered. Snake wondered, as he pulled on long underwear and a thermal shirt, if his embarrassment was due to self consciousness or attraction. The latter was cute and all, but it could get problematic if the kid got all rattled every time he saw him without a shirt on. Snake pushed it from his mind. It wouldn’t do any good to fixate on it and he’d leave it unless it came up.

Otacon’s skittishness came up again when it was time for them to go to bed. Snake pulled down the curtains to block out the light that still filtered in from the street. The street lights still simulated day time but they were both exhausted and neither had slept in a proper bed since feeling the Alliance station. He shooed Otacon off the futon, pulling it down into a bed and putting the sheets on. He layered every blanket he could find and decided to leave the heater running. They’d sleep in their thermals and that would have to do.

Otacon changed in the bathroom while Snake set up, coming out in time to stand awkwardly behind him while he folded down the corners of the sheets. Snake clambered in, lifting the comforter up for Otacon to join him.

“Ah… are you, um sure?” Otacon asked, staring at his feet. “I can sleep on the floor?”

“Don’t be an idiot, it’s freezing. Get in.” Snake waved the blanked impatiently. Otacon obliged, gingerly taking the corner of the sheet from Snake and lowering himself under the covers.  It didn’t take long for their combined body heat to warm the lumpy futon, though Snake was still quite happy to be sleeping in socks.

Otacon was stiff as a board beside him. Snake could only see the sharp lines of his back, taut from stress and an increased consciousness of the space he occupied. Snake reached over, patting his shoulder. “Relax.”

“S…sorry.” Otacon’s shoulders relaxed somewhat, though he still maintained the furthest distance possible from Snake.

It took Snake what felt like forever to fall asleep, and when he finally did, he was plagued by strange dreams. He thought they might have been violent, but they were gone from his head by the time he woke.


	7. Act One: Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon have their first mission together and it wouldn't be MGS if everything went according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is an update schedule? I seem to recall I had one at one point? My apologies again for the crap update schedule, I've been having some bad brain stuff and it's not conducive to wanting to edit or write given that I am filled with self doubt. I think this chapter is ok, but I'll leave that up to you! Enjoy~

“I think we should hit the UFP first,” said Snake, handing a bleary eyed Otacon a cup of coffee. Otacon had barely sat up in bed, woken by the loud beep of the synthesizer. Snake would have to see if Otacon could reprogram it to be quieter — he was a perpetually early riser and didn’t want to have to worry about waking Otacon every time he wanted his morning coffee.

Run that by me again?” Otacon mumbled into his cup, wincing at his first sip.

“It’s crap, I know, crystals would be better than this.” Snake took a long drink of his own, nose wrinkling.

“The part about hitting people, can you run that by me again?” Otacon reached down to the floor, grabbing his glasses. Even with them on, he still looked like he could use another twelve hours of sleep.

“I’m not sure what kind of sabotage you inflicted on the Alliance Military when you shut down REX, but it should keep them busy for a little while at least. Meanwhile the UFP has had over a week with your blueprints. The first thing I want to know is what exactly they’re doing with them now they’ve lost you.”

Otacon nodded. “You think that the UFP is more likely to be the aggressor, and if you do, so will the Alliance Military.”

“Yeah, and if EAM goes offensive as a pre-emptive defence... “ Snake glanced down, jaw clenched. “People say the UFP is just a terrorist group, but I’ve seen what the Alliance is willing to do when they feel it’s necessary. UFP have a lot of bases in areas with large civilian populations. They claim it’s in the spirit of transparency. They say they don’t want to sit up in an ivory tower away from the people they want to serve.”

Otacon frowned. “They’re using the populations as human shields, but if what you said is true, and Earth Alliance gets desperate…”

Snake nodded. “Like I said, it’s best if EAM doesn’t decide these are desperate times. Especially not if they get REX operational again.”

Otacon pulled his knees up to his chin. “They shouldn’t be able to get away with that. There’s no way… People would find out. It would be a media disaster.” Otacon shook his head, frown deepening.

“You seem to be under the impression they haven’t done this before,” Snake reached out, putting a hand on Otacon’s shoulder. “UFP is the perfect scapegoat, and people are scared. They want a villain to blame, they don’t  _ want  _ to believe their own government would do this.”

“These can’t be the only options,” insisted Otacon. “Willful blindness or siding with terrorists — there have to be other options!”

Snake shook his head, but his mouth twitched up at the corners. “One thing at a time, we can stop production on Metal Gear REX and then we can think about total political revolution.”

Otacon let out a huff of laughter, a small smile of his own appearing on his lips. He raised a hand to his forehead, running fingers through his hair. “I-I just never realized how messed up it all was. I was so focused, go to school, build things. I wanted to help people.”

“So you followed in your father’s footsteps?” Snake asked, unable to completely mask the bitterness in his voice. The miserable look on Otacon’s face after immediately made him feel guilty. “Ignore me, I’m… I’m still a bit tired from this last week. It’s making me a bit of an ass.”

“You’re right, though,” said Otacon, his voice low and unhappy.

“Look, let’s… shit.” Snake rubbed the back his his neck, unable to look directly at Otacon. Fortunately, that seemed to be the end of it. Otacon stared morosely at his cup, even after he’d drained it. Snake had to pluck it from his hands to put it in the recycler.

Otacon began to work, fingers tapping away at the screen. “How much time do you think we have before one of them makes a move?”

Snake frowned, forced to pause and mull it over. “It should take the UFP at least a few months to build a new REX prototype. Once that happens, I can’t really say. Soon after, I would think.”

“We’ll just have to stop them before they get to that point,” Otacon insisted.

Snake nodded. “First things first, though, drink your coffee. We have a gun and a tablet between us — let’s work on fixing that before we go storming any bases.”

 

* * *

 

Otacon wasn’t specific about how he got the money. All he said was that it wouldn’t be missed. Something about the way Otacon’s eyes flicked downwards when he said it made Snake want to press the issue, but he didn’t, unsure he really wanted to know. It was clear that his partner had about as many secrets as Snake himself hid, and however much he might want to dig, however much it might affect their goals, Snake would stay silent. It would be hypocritical otherwise and another part of him just didn’t want to know.

Once money stopped being an issue, they began to make lists, separately at first, Snake writing down field gear he needed and Otacon had his lists of parts and tools. Later they combined the list, crossed out duplicates. Otacon had come up with some fascinating blueprints for upgraded field tech for Snake, though Snake was still unconvinced of the necessity of the ones that used his  n anomachines.  

The nanomachines were another subject Snake would have been more than happy to avoid, if not for immediate threat they posed. They had been turned off after the mission as per regulations, and Otacon had assured him that they were too far away from the nearest Alliance base to be activated remotely. However, it was a constant source of worry for Snake. Otacon had begun work on finding a way to block all incoming signals but his own (the last part was still a point of contention as Snake was more than happy with  _ all  _ signals being blocked). Otacon insisted it was important they be able to maintain a constant line of communication when Snake was doing field work, and while Snake agreed with that, he didn’t think that nanomachines were necessary.  

Other than the nanomachines, Snake found that he and his new partner actually got along quite well. Otacon mostly kept to himself, throwing himself into the work like he’d been made for it. If his enthusiasm bordered on unhealthy, Snake didn’t think it was his place to comment.

Long days and sleepless nights passed quicker than Snake would have anticipated, trapped in a one room apartment with a near stranger. He found comfort in routine, waking early to put on coffee for himself, encouraging Otacon to catch a few hours sleep if he was still awake. Snake got the impression that Otacon was still uncomfortable with sharing the futon, a habit Snake had been trying to break him of. For starters, their apartment was freezing — sharing just made sense — even if there were other options for sleeping arrangements. For another, Snake found Otacon’s bashfulness irritating. Snake had spent most of his adult life in situations like this, forced to live packed in with other people like sardines, privacy a pipe dream. Watching Otacon get flustered every time he so much as changed his shirt was just downright annoying. If they were going to work together in close proximity, Otacon would have to grow up and get over it.

They had started to get orders sent to a variety of P.O. Boxes and empty apartments across Ganymede and a few of her sister moons. Otacon would track their delivery status, and when they arrived, Snake would pick them up and sneak them back. The apartment was becoming cluttered with a variety of computer equipment and tech. They had agreed early on that they would keep their necessities down to whatever was portable — everything they needed would have to be able to fit in a duffel bag, and it would need to be able to be packed in a hurry. When they lived in a space as small as their apartment, it didn’t take much to fill the place.

It was… oddly domestic. Snake found himself going a bit stir crazy. There was little for him to do other than pick up deliveries and try and keep the apartment warm. There were no signs of pursuit, and though Snake was sure the Alliance was looking for them, by the second week with no sign of them, he let himself believe they had thrown them off their trail.

They had no plan and an apartment that barely warmed above 10 degrees celsius, but it felt  _ right.  _ If Snake had been looking for someone else to hold his leash, a naive kid with an idealistic streak and delusions of peace was hardly the worst person he could choose.

 

* * *

 

Snake would have to re-asses his feelings on Otacon once he got out of this godawful vent. Otacon had missed a key security feature on the door to the lab Snake needed access to, and while it had only taken him about fifteen minutes to rectify the situation, it was enough time that the guard shift had finished switching over and had noticed their missing friend. They hadn’t found the unconscious body yet (he was shoved in a supply closet down the hallway), but it was only a matter of time.

Snake sighed. He wasn’t claustrophobic by any means, but he grew frustrated as the minutes ticked by. The longer he waited, the higher the likelihood of discovery. It turned out that whatever Otacon wanted out of the computer lab was important enough to warrant six armed guards pacing in front of it as soon as there was even a hint that something was amiss.

_ “I’m sorry!”  _ Otacon apologized in his ear for the fifth time. Snake was not about to reassure his partner that it was fine, especially since it wasn’t. That slip up, while an easy enough one to make, could have gotten him killed. Otacon knew this without having to be told, thus the near constant apologies in his ear for the last half hour. _ “On the bright side, the key card I gave you will actually work now.”  _ He had half a mind to rip the transmitter right out of his ear, but Otacon had a live feed of the cameras around the corner, ready to alert him if even a small window of opportunity came up.

Another half hour, and the guard he’d tranq’d would start to wake up, then even getting out of the building would be nigh impossible. “Can you make a distraction or something?” he hissed. “Set off an alarm somewhere else?”

_ “I’m working on it, but there’s a chance that they’ll just double security where you are, or worse, put the whole place on lockdown.”  _ Otacon sounded worried, even over the tinny transmitter.

“In half an hour, our friend in the locker is going to wake up and they’ll go on high alert anyways. We don’t have much of a choice here.” Snake pursed his lips. This was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Get in, plant Otacon’s bug, and get out. A UFP outpost like this should not be this organized, or this well-staffed. It only led credence to Otacon’s suspicions that this outpost was more than it appeared, and that the information he’d be able to gather would be worth the risks.

Snake certainly hoped he was right as he shifted as quietly as he could, his neck and arms becoming stiff.  _ “Alright, Snake?”  _ Snake grunted in response.  _ “I’m going to set off a fire alarm two corridors down. That should draw most of them away and distract anyone who remains enough for you to slip past.” _ Snake’s thank you’s were cut off by a shrill alarm. He watched through the vent as the guards quickly argued amongst themselves, and four of them dashed towards the source of the alarm. Of the two that remained, one stayed stationed in front of the door and the other paced the hallway with renewed urgency.

As the second one passed by his particular vent, Snake pulled out a blaster battery and tossed it down the ventilation shaft. It rattled as it sailed down the shaft, bouncing off the thin aluminium walls, rolling to a stop some fifteen metres down the hall from where Snake hid. The pacing guard’s gaze snapped up at the vent, and then followed it with his eyes to the point where the battery had stopped.

“I’m going to check it out.” The words filled Snake with a relief he couldn’t begin to describe. His shoulders sagged as he let out a low breath. He pushed the vent cover out of his way, deadly silent as he pulled out his M9 and dropped to the ground. The guard in front of the door spotted him right away, but Snake had a shot off before he could even open his mouth.

Snake used his keycard, relieved when it worked, instead of setting off another alarm. He pulled the limp body in with him, propping him against the wall as the door slid shut behind them.  _ “Excellent Snake, you really are incredible.”  _ Snake could  _ hear  _ Otacon’s smile over the transmitter.“Great, where do you want me to put this thing?” The room contained three servers that towered over Snake’s head, uncomfortably warm despite the fans that blew above him. The rest of the room contained rows and rows of desks, most empty. Some had computer equipment balanced precariously on them, other had fully functioning terminals. The whole room looked like it had been set up in a hurry, and there were exposed wires running along the floor directly to the servers. Snake frowned. He wasn’t a computer expert by any stretch but the whole setup seemed slapdash and more than a little unsafe.

He made sure to step carefully over the wires, gripping Otacon’s device in his hand. Otacon had explained the device as a signal booster. The information being stored at the facility was important enough to warrant a complete blackout of all outgoing signals — it could only store information, not send it out. Otacon’s device had been built to allow him access to the information stored by creating it’s own outgoing signal. It was designed to look like a flash drive, so if it were discovered, it wouldn’t seem out of place, and If anyone tried access the files inside, Otacon had explained, the program would be wiped. Though it wouldn’t help if someone decided to take it apart, it would keep them from tracking where the information was being sent.

It all sounded pretty science fiction to Snake, and he was sure there was more to it but it seemed like a waste of time to go into more detail. He wasn’t an idiot, but when Otacon started going off he was almost impossible to shut up.

_ “Is there a main terminal, anything like that? Ah… something important looking.”  _ Snake felt a flare of mild irritation at that condescending addendum. He spotted what Otacon was referring to, though —the closest terminal to the servers, also the one that looked the most well-maintained. The exposed wires on the floor seemed to connect to that one.

“I see it.” Snake approached it, careful to keep from touching any wiring.

_ “Is it just an all in one monitor, or is there anything else attached to it?”  _ Snake could hear Otacon forcefully slowing himself down. He could feel his nervous energy buzzing in his ear.

“There’s an honest to god tower under here,” Snake exclaimed, surprised at the discovery. Bulky and considered a waste of space, Snake hadn’t seen one since he was a kid. “That’s where the wires are attached.”

_ “Wires?” _

Right. “The servers are physically connected to the computer. I guess they didn’t want to risk a wireless connection.”

_ “Damn, you’re going to have to plug it into the USB port. How long do you have until your friends wake up?” _

“I have about 30 seconds before the second guard notices his buddy is missing. Check the cameras and tell me his status.” Snake felt himself tense, adrenaline spiking, his heart pounding. If he had to fight his way out of here, he could, but it would defeat the purpose of the mission.

_ “Damn, damn, damn, he’s turning around. Snake, plug it in and get out of there. We won’t have much time before it’s found and even less time before they figure out what it’s for, but it’s going to have to do.” _

Snake checked the charge on his M9 pistol, at least enough for a few more guards, if he kept it set to stun. “Is anyone else in the hall?”

_ “Just the one but—”  _ All of a sudden, the alarm stopped.  _ “Damnit! Snake!” _

Snake didn’t respond. He was out the door, gun drawn before Otacon could offer any objections. He shot the guard coming towards him — he cried out before he hit the ground. Snake winced. Footsteps coming from down the hall to his left, he jumped and hoisted himself back up into the ventilation shaft from before. He pulled the grate back over the hole just in time. Two of the guards from before came thundering around the corner, weapons drawn.

Snake crawled along the vent, grabbing the battery he’d used as a distraction, they weren’t exactly cheap. Snake heard the shouts as the unconscious body in the server room was discovered and crawled faster. He had to get out before the place went on lockdown.

That was when the alarm began to sound, different from the one before, less a high ringing of the fire alarm and more of a low, pulsating whine.

“Otacon, is the car ready?” He didn’t mean to hiss it like he did, and he could hear Otacon jump. He’d feel bad about it later.

_ “Y-yeah I’ll pick you up at the drop point?” _

Snake grunted in acknowledgement. Rounding the next corner, his stomach dropped. The vent he had used to get into the facility was blocked. A steel plate had slid into place.

“Otacon, the grate!”

_ “It looks like it’s automatic. They don’t know where you are yet, just keep still and I should be able to—”   _ More footsteps getting closer.

“Now would be good!” he snapped. The steel door slid upwards as blaster fire perforated the thin aluminium not three feet behind him. He threw himself through the exit, but not quite fast enough. Whether they knew he was there or they were just desperately guessing, Snake didn’t know, but searing pain scorched his side and his entire body involuntarily spasmed.  

He bit his cheek to keep from shouting, tumbling out of the building and onto the gravel below. He clutched his side, not ready to look at the damage, as he dashed across the yard, hoping against hope they still thought he was inside. He could see Otacon next to the hole in the electric fence, worried face through the van’s window, side door propped open for easy access.

He practically fell into the back, automatic door sliding shut behind him. “Go!” he shouted, wincing. His laboured breaths stretched the burnt skin under his hands.

To his credit, Otacon didn’t question the order, just slammed his foot on the gas pedal. Otacon swore when the acceleration caused some of his computer equipment in the back to clatter against the back of the van.

“Get back onto the main road, we can ditch the van when we get back to New Osaka.” Otacon nodded, his fingers white on the wheel. Snake could see his worried eyes glancing at him through the rear view mirror.

“You’re hurt,” he said. To Snake’s relief, he didn’t slow down or attempt to pull over.

“I’ll be fine. We just need to ditch the car and get back to the apartment.” Snake yanked the balaclava off his head, static pulling at his hair. “I’ll take over if they catch up.”

He took the opportunity to lift his hand and actually look at the wound. Blaster burns were nasty, but the one that hit him had either been running low on battery, or the metal of the vent had absorbed some of the shock. It should have stunned him at least, or at worst, there would have been a cauterized hole in his side. The burn extended from just below his pectoral to halfway down his ribcage — not a large area but enough to be more than a little uncomfortable. The skin was red and raw. Blisters were forming and some had popped during his run, making the burn slick. Some of the lycra from his shirt was beginning to stick to the blistering skin. The rest of the fabric around the wound had burned away leaving the raw skin exposed. The longer he sat, the more painful it became, but he knew he’d been lucky.

He sighed, trusting in Otacon’s driving skills and his adherence to the emergency route they’d planned. He let his head rest on the carpeted floor. The road was smooth enough it didn't jostle his head too much.

He might have fallen asleep if not for the adrenaline, and once that wore off, the pain in his side every time he so much as breathed. He could tell through the windows when they got closer to the city and made himself useful by packing up all of Otacon’s computer equipment in the nondescript black duffel bag.

Snake slid on the jacket he’d left in the van, wincing as the fabric brushed his blisters. He saw Otacon wince in sympathy, taking the duffel bag off his hands and throwing it over his shoulder. They’d parked in a narrow alley behind a restaurant, the putrid smell of rotting organics assaulting their noses. An expensive restaurant then. Snake glanced around for cameras, but finding none, he nodded at Otacon.

He limped until the alley mouth, then, not wanting to draw attention to himself, he swallowed his pride and wrapped an arm around Otacon’s shoulders. “Act natural,” he muttered when his partner nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Y-yeah.” They walked like that to the monorail station, Snake gripping Otacon’s shoulder harder than strictly necessary. It wasn’t the worst pain he’d ever been in  — it didn’t even rank in his top five  — but that didn’t make it comfortable by any stretch of the term.

The crowded monorail was worse, passengers bumping into him and brushing past him. It took all of Snake’s willpower not to cry out when an elbow caught him and burst a particularly large blister. He felt it leak across the burn and soak into his shirt, now wet with sweat and fluid.

Otacon’s frightened yet sympathetic glances did nothing but set his nerves even further on edge. He didn’t want pity, he wanted painkillers and an assessment of the mission. They’d better have gotten something useful.

It was pissing rain by the time they got off the monorail and they were both thoroughly soaked by the time they got to the apartment. Their second shitty bachelor, this time no futon, just a mattress. Two hours since Snake had thrown himself out of the vent and he was feeling it — exhaustion settled deep in his core.

He stripped off everything but his briefs and the shirt currently melted to his chest, padded over to the mattress and collapsed. Before he could open his mouth to call for Otacon, the man was lowering himself onto the mattress beside him. He had stripped down to his teeshirt and boxers. The shoulders of his shirt were damp with rainwater, in one hand he held their med kit, in the other, he had Snake’s tablet. Snake could just see a first-aid website before Otacon dropped it beside him.

Water lashed at the windows, the torrential downpour showing no signs of giving up any time soon. Snake breathed through his nose and out through his mouth, trying not to focus on the pain. Wordlessly, Otacon opened the kit, pulling out a pair of safety scissors. His face was pale and pinched as he slid his fingers under the edge of Snake's shirt, pulling as gently as possible as he began to cut. He worked slowly, cutting first from the hem to the neck, then cutting the arms and finally the fabric around the wound until only the circle stuck to his skin remained. Snake pulled the pieces of his shirt off, tossing the soaked fabric onto the floor.

Otacon stood, leaving for the bathroom, returning with wet hand towels. He lay them across the burn. The pressure made Snake wince and the cold made him hiss through his teeth.

“I don’t think the shirt actually fused with your skin. It should soak off just fine.” Snake turned to look up at Otacon. His partner was furiously cleaning his glasses, doing little more with his damp shirt than smearing the fingerprints around. Otacon cleared his throat and put his glasses back on. HIs mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. His forehead was wrinkled and his mouth finally sealed in a tight white line.

“Are you okay?” Snake finally asked, his own eyebrows drawing together in a frown. Snake was taken aback when Otacon started to laugh, but he was less surprised when the laughter turned into a choked sob. He reached up, putting a hand on Otacon’s arm.

“I- I- I… could have—” he couldn’t even finish his sentence, hiccupping violently. “S-shit…” His breath came in shallow gasps and Snake understood what he was looking at, wishing he could sit up without disturbing his injury.

Snake moved his arm to Otacon’s shoulder. “Hey.” When Otacon didn’t respond, he repeated himself with a little more force. “Listen to me.” Otacon finally looked down, his eyes red and wet, his glasses crooked.

Snake sighed, wishing he were better at this sort of thing. “Look at me,” he said, reaching for Otacon’s chin, pulling him so he could look him in the eye. “I need you to breathe, okay? I need your help dealing with this, and I need you to pull it together.” Otacon looked at him, eyes wide with terror. Snake assumed he’d just realized he was having difficulty breathing.  
  
                                                                       

He cursed himself for not seeing this coming, but was fairly impressed that Otacon had held it together this long. Otacon had not only continued to work exceedingly well under pressure. He’d driven the goddamn getaway car and given no indication of his mental state until they were out of the public eye. If he weren’t a civilian, it would be impressive. As it stood Snake was floored, he probably owed him his life considering what a close call it had been in the vent.  

“Listen to me,” he ordered, “When I squeeze your arm I want you to breathe in, when I loosen my grip I want you to exhale. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Can you do that for me?” Otacon let out a thin noise, but he nodded so that was good. Snake gave his arm a gentle squeeze, trying to follow along with his own instructions for Otacon’s sake, though deeper breaths stretched uncomfortably at the burn.

At first Otacon struggled to hold in even a single breath, but every time he tried to look away, Snake would let go of his arm to reach up and tilt his chin back down to face him. The tears stopped before his breathing evened out. Snake saw his face heat as he struggled to stop gasping. After a while, his breathing slowed and he was finally able to match the pace Snake set.

When Snake felt Otacon was calmed enough, he let go, sliding a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh of relief. He wanted to sleep for the next hundred years and then some. He began to pull off the now lukewarm towels from his wound, dropping them unceremoniously on the floor with the remnants of his shirt.   

“H-here, let me.” Otacon’s voice was still thick and nasal from crying. He wiped his face with the back of his hands and pulled the remaining towels off of Snake. “You don’t really need me for this though, do you?” He pushed his glasses up with his wrist. There was a question on his face that Snake was unsure how to answer.

“It’s easier with help,” he supplied, not quite what Otacon was asking but it was easier than trying to come up with a proper explanation as to why he’d helped him. Other than basic human decency.

Otacon had been right about the fabric. After soaking, it peeled right off. Otacon wrinkled his nose as he held the ring of fabric with a gloved hand, finally dropping it on top of the pile of wet towels.

“I wish we had a dermal regenerator,” Otacon lamented, moving Snake to the bathroom so he could pour cool water over the burn.

“I’m not really up to breaking into a clinic. This will heal on it’s own. Give it a week.” Otacon smeared antibiotic cream over the blistered skin and Snake tried not to wince.

“I just don’t want it to get infected.”

Snake let out a snort.“You think this is my first blaster burn? I’ll be fine.” he paused, remembering Otacon’s distress. “Thank you.”

Otacon looked like he would start crying again, but instead, he looked down at the floor. “How can you thank me?” he demanded.

“You did really well out there, alright?” Otacon shook his head, mouth opening to argue but Snake cut him off. “Don’t. Don’t downplay what you accomplished today. We had a few hiccups, that’s normal. I didn’t prepare you well enough for what might happen in there, I’m not used to working with civilians and that was my fault. You kept a cool head and we completed the mission. Next time will be better, and the time after that, and the time after that.”

“Even after this, you still want to work with me?” Otacon asked, incredulous.

“It may be superficial, but blaster burns still hurt like hell. I’m not taking one of those for nothing.” He smirked, patting Otacon on the shoulder. “You’re a good partner. I meant what I said when I told you I wanted to do good.” Otacon looked up, giving him a weak smile, his eyes shiny again but this time no tears fell.

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to try and promise when I will have the next chapter out. It's already written it's just a matter of editing and keeping myself from hating it so I can post it.


	8. Act One: Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one with the sexy shower scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an illustration for this but I decided it wasn't really polished enough for me to want to actually embed it in the fic, but I'll upload it on my tumblr if anyone wants to check it out. (2sneeaky.tumblr.com).

“Here,” said Snake, handing Otacon a paper cup. The coffee was hot but that was about its only merit. Snake sipped his own, burning his tongue in the process. Bitter and somehow thick, he swallowed the rest-stop sludge in an effort to chase away the last remnants of sleep.

The back of the van was freezing, enough that the previous night they’d actually zipped their sleeping bags together to stay warm. Snake was handling their current living situation much better than Otacon. To his partner’s credit he hardly complained, but Snake could see the soreness in his shoulders and the way his hands shook with cold and exhaustion.

They’d been driving for over a week, trying to make it to Titan’s major spaceport. They drove in shifts, unless, like the previous night, they had to stop for five hours at a charge station while they recharged the battery. Newer cars could fully charge within an hour, however theirs was at least 30 years old, serviceable and tough, but severely out of date, but It worked well enough for their purposes. The van had been designed to hold nine passengers with three rows of seats in the back. Snake had removed those to give him an Otacon room to sleep. The white exterior was rusted, and scratches along the left side indicated either a poor parking job or some sort of low impact collision.

Otacon had found the Van listed online at twice the price they’d paid for it. Snake had gone alone and browbeaten the owner until he’d admitted (as Snake had suspected) that he hadn’t upgraded the battery as per regulations. Otacon would likely have objected to his intimidation tactics, which was why he’d left him behind, despite his partner’s insistence that he wasn’t healed enough to be doing errands like that on his own.    

They’d left as soon as Snake was able. It only took a few days for Snake to feel fully recovered. Some of it was the nanomachines that he grudgingly let Otacon activate, but even without them, Snake was always a fast healer. They also coughed up the cash to get the good ointment at the drugstore. Snake would have gone without, but Otacon insisted. The guilty glances were starting to drive him up the wall, so he took to flinching as little as possible so Otacon would stop hanging his head like a kicked puppy.

There would be a scar, but he could always get it removed if he felt vain about it. It was a simple procedure to get them erased, and most modern healing methods didn’t leave one at all.

“I don’t think I’ve seen anyone with scars like yours, at least not in real life,” said Otacon one night, sitting on the mattress in their dingy apartment, careful hands smoothing ointment over his injury with gentle fingers. He had a deft touch from years of working with delicate electronics, and Snake tried not to think too hard about that. Snake shrugged.

“My platoon spent a lot of time away from the comforts of modern medical technology.” He looked down at the ropey scar across his forearm, the one Otacon had been staring at, wide eyed. He gestured to the rest of the scars that littered his torso. “Limited supplies and everything, you only used the good compresses on stuff that actually matters.”

“Still, it must have been painful.” Otacon tore his gaze away, looking down at his feet.

“So’s getting stabbed in the first place.” Snake yanked his sweater over his head, covering the offending scar tissue. “Only other soldiers ever really saw me naked, I guess I just never thought of how it would look to a civilian, never bothered me.”

Otacon flushed. “You’re really strong, huh?” Snake wasn’t sure how to feel about the slightly reverent tone.

Snake thumbed the hard edge of the scar — he hadn’t gotten it doing anything particularly brave. A training accident while sparring with Grey Fox, with Frank. They’d barely known each other then: Snake, a green recruit with something to prove, challenged, not the largest, but certainly the meanest looking guy in the unit. Big Boss’s right hand man. Frank knocked him on his ass in under fifteen seconds, although according to hushed whispers after, staying upright for that long was an accomplishment in itself. Snake, humiliated, leapt after Frank once his back was turned — a mistake he realized too late. These were battle hardened men who had learned to survive on instinct. If Snake hadn’t leaped back when he saw a flash of cruel looking steel, he might not be alive today.

He should have been disciplined, or at the very least chewed out for his stupid, hotheaded move. Instead, Frank just looked at Snake, with his hand clamped over his arm, blood seeping out between his fingers and dripping off his wrist. Then Frank nodded at him. “You’ve got balls, kid.” He didn’t smile, but there was a glint in his eye, a hint of amusement and something else that Snake wouldn’t be able to pinpoint until a week later.

He and Otacon were about another fifteen hours drive from Titan One. Unlike New Osaka, this city was on American territory, which explained the thoroughly uncreative naming conventions in the area. They would drive in shifts the rest of the way and hope they wouldn’t get caught before they could grab a shuttle.

After their rocky first mission, Otacon had worked tirelessly, pulling apart every piece of data they’d managed to grab. He managed to find the location of another UFP base, one where (from what he could gather) it was likely they were starting work on another Metal Gear REX. There were records of almost all the staff from Otacon’s UFP REX team travelling there and fewer records of any of them having left again. It seemed a good place to start.

The location was an asteroid near Jupiter, small enough to go relatively unnoticed. Once they got to Titan One they could hire a shuttle to the closest moon and then buy/rent/steal their own from there. Otacon was not a fan of the stealing option, and to be fair, neither was Snake, but shuttles were expensive and heavily licensed. The less of a paper trail they left the better.

Otacon climbed into the passenger seat beside Snake, tablet in one hand and coffee in the other. He was still working through all the data they’d gathered, sorting it into several folders and separating the useful information from the garbage.

“You ready?” Snake asked, glancing over as Otacon buckled his seatbelt.

“As I’ll ever be,” he replied. When he smiled, Snake could see the lines under his eyes crinkle. Dark circles spoke of exhaustion deeper than their previous week of frigid, sleepless nights. There was a part of him that wanted to ask, wanted to know what had the man tossing and turning until almost sunrise. Snake recognized the signs of memories and nightmares, he had his own to contend with. But asking might lead Otacon to ask questions of his own, and since when did Snake care anyways?

He shook his head, starting the van.

The drive was quiet, for the most part. Otacon tapped away at the tablet and when Snake glanced over he could see blueprints and satellite images. Otacon was never still. Even when he slept, he tossed and turned, and even when he wasn’t working, his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, on his leg. Sometimes they wouldn’t even tap against anything, curling and twitching against empty air.

They’d been driving for twelve hours straight, only making two brief bathroom stops. Snake’s legs were cramping and Otacon was starting to fade, which was worrying. He was supposed to take the wheel soon, but Snake wasn’t so sure he wanted to give it over before his partner had a chance to rest. His eyes had been glued to his screen, looking over the same sets of plans again and again. Snake had seen it out of the corner of his eye, watched Otacon zoom in on the same ventilation shaft four times.

“Have you been taking notes?” Snake asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the empty road. Otacon jerked up in his seat, glancing around wildly before his eyes settled on Snake.

“Oh! Um, a little. I’m still figuring things out. I don’t want to commit any plan to paper until I’m sure.” Otacon closed the page he had open, pulling up the goddamn blueprints again. “There are things here that just don’t make sense and I — I’m worried about sending you in there if we don’t know what we’re up against.”

“Did you ever think to ask?” Snake shook his head, letting out a long sigh. “Probably not right?”

“I—”

“Otacon, we’re a team. When I’m in the field, I need you to be my backup. We both pull our own weight. Same goes for when I’m not. Believe it or not, but I went through several years of military training in intelligence gathering and infiltration. I know things you couldn’t possibly simply because it’s classified intel.”

Otacon shook his head, his hands raised in surrender. “Oh geez, I didn’t mean to imply— I mean, I just thought you already do so much—” Snake could only watch him struggle for words for so long before he had to step in to alleviate his own secondhand embarrassment.

“I know how I look, alright. I know a lot of people just see me as a blunt instrument. I’m not accusing you of anything. I just need you to know _everything_ I can do so we’re more effective as a team.”

“A team, right.” Otacon nodded, straightening in his seat. He looked back down at the tablet, his fingers flying across the screen. “I’ll take notes on everything I feel I’m missing. You’ll take a look at it?”

“Yeah, but for now get some sleep. I need you to take over soon and I need you to be able to focus.”

“I’m fi—” Otacon trailed off when he started to yawn. “Alright, fair point. Wake me up when it’s my turn.”

Snake suppressed a snort, watching Otacon climb into the back and settle down in the double-sized sleeping bag they hadn’t dismantled yet. He turned back to face the road glancing up at the rear view mirror one final time to see Otacon rolling himself up like a burrito to stay warm. He smiled and turned the heat up just a bit. He’d turn it down to save battery power when it was his turn. 

He let Otacon get another four hours before he was forced to pull over, his legs stiff, sore, and beginning to cramp. He threw his jacket on, bracing himself against the damp air (at least it had stopped raining). In his pocket, he had tucked the last of his real cigarettes. He’d bought them off a guy in New Osaka and had been hoarding them ever since. Otacon hadn’t been pleased, but since Snake was using his own money he couldn’t actually stop him.

He lit one, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke burn the back of his throat, familiar and everything he needed in that moment. He paced around the van, keeping an eye on the road for any oncoming traffic. The last thing he needed was to be noticed.

The side door slid open. Otacon stepped out, bundled in his jacket and scarf, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Sleep well?” Snake asked, corners of his mouth twitching up. Otacon let out a quiet huff of a laugh.

“I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

“Would you now?” Snake raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“You know what I mean,” Otacon kicked a pebble, following Snake while he paced. “Wish we could have taken a shuttle. This driving is, well, driving me nuts. Who even roadtrips anymore?”

“Us, apparently.” Snake finished his cigarette, bending down to scrape off the last of the embers on the pavement before stuffing the butt in his pocket. “You know it was the best way to get out undetected. The UFP would have been watching all the major transport hubs.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m just—” he sighed, his breath white in the chilly air, “I’m just tired and grumpy, don’t mind me.”

“We have those caffeine pills in the back, no rest stops for a while or we could get coffee.” Snake climbed into the back after adjusting the thermostat, and Otacon took the driver’s seat.

“It’s not the same,” he complained. Snake chuckled, kicking off his boots and rolling himself up in the sleeping bags.

“Yeah, I know.”

* * *

 

Once they got to Titan One and ditched the van, there remained the issue of securing a shuttle. They decided to see if they could bribe a driver to borrow a cargo ship, less suspicious.

They sat in a small cafe, nursing their first cups of real, decent coffee since before they left New Osaka. The lights were brighter than they had grown accustomed to over the last few days and the air was warmer.

Otacon bounced his leg, shaking the table. When Snake almost spilled his coffee for the third time he snapped.

“Stop that!”

“Sorry!” Otacon jerked upright, rubbing the back of his neck. “It all seems so risky, I guess, I’m just—”

“Don’t be.”

“Hm?” Otacon glanced back up, his eyebrows raising.

“You were going to say nervous, right? I’m telling you, we both looked over those plans. If something goes wrong, it’s not going to be for lack of preparation. Getting anxious about it isn’t going to help. If you’re nervous, you’re more likely to make mistakes.”

“You know, saying stuff like that is just going to make me more nervous,” Otacon complained, pressing his lips together.

Snake shrugged, dipping a chunk of his blueberry muffin in his coffee. “I trust you, alright, you’ll do fine. It’s not going to be like last time.”

Otacon flushed and looked down, bringing his mug to his lips so quickly he spilled half his cup down his chin. He swore, mopping himself up with paper napkins. Snake chuckled, passing him another to get the mess on his shirt.

“At least it’s not going to stain,” Snake supplied, gesturing at the black teeshirt.

“Small favours,” Otacon snorted. “We’re both pretty rank anyways though. We should probably try and hit up a rec centre, get cleaned up. Maybe find an outlet store and get you something flexible for the mission, considering what happened to your last shirt.”

Snake nodded. “Maybe something a little tougher than lycra this time around.”

“Hey, you picked it,” Otacon replied defensively, crumpling the sodden napkins in his fist and tossing them onto his empty plate.

“And that was my mistake.” Snake finished off his muffin, washing it down with the last dregs of his coffee, wrinkling his nose at the unprocessed sludge at the bottom. A sign of a cheap synthesizer, but he supposed they got what they paid for. “After this, we should see about getting a proper suit together, something more like the tech from my… from my Foxhound days.”

“You never talk about Foxhound,” Otacon pressed, leaning his chin on his hands, elbows on the table.

“And unless it directly affects our mission, I don’t intend to.” Snake stood, brushing stray crumbs off his shirt, ignoring the uncomfortable way his stomach turned at Otacon’s prying. He stood and began to weave his way around the tightly packed cafe tables.

Otacon leapt up to follow him as he turned to leave, nearly knocking over his chair in the process.

It was colder once they were out on the street. Snake saw Otacon struggling to pull his jacket on and slowed to allow him time to catch up.

“You still want a shower?” Otacon asked. Snake nodded and Otacon gave a wan smile. “Should warm us up a bit at least. Why do we always end up on horrible frigid moons?”

“Blame the UFP.” Snake desperately wanted a cigarette, but he would have to wait until they were somewhere more private. It would only draw attention to them.

“I was thinking, maybe we could spend the night here, get some proper rest before… everything.” Otacon stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking at his feet.

Snake slowed. “Can we afford that?” He’d let Otacon be in charge of finances, since he was the one providing them and refusing to say where they came from.

“I was thinking we could maybe find a hostel or something, maybe even get a private room so we can talk about the mission some more?”

Snake paused. On one hand, he wanted to get take advantage of the new intel before word got out it had been stolen, if word hadn't already gotten out. On the other hand, he wasn’t an idiot. They were both bone tired and a good night’s rest in a real bed would be good for them both.

“I think that’s a good plan,” he said. Otacon’s face lit up, glowing under the faint praise. “Let’s find an outlet store, and then we can find somewhere to spend the night. If we’re lucky we’ll find one of those places that does free dinner.”

They found a replacement shirt for Snake. They shelled out a fair bit to find one that was less likely to melt when hit with blaster fire, while still being flexible. A similar fabric to lycra, but designed to hold up in extreme temperatures and wick away sweat. They ended up finding it in a store that sold supplies for construction workers, which Otacon said Snake passed for fairly well, especially in his dishevelled state.

He wished they had a vehicle again, wandering around looking for a place to stay was bad enough with the damp weather and the cold, but doing it while lugging their bags around was positively hellish. Snake was forced to carry the heavy bags full of computer equipment while Otacon took the third bag full of dirty laundry and medical supplies.    

They managed to find a hostel within two hours. Neither of them had a hostel membership, but fortunately this place took bribes. They booked a private room over the dorms despite the extra cost and found themselves in a tiny room with a bunk bed. The bottom bunk was a slightly larger full sized bed while the upper one was a single. Snake didn’t bother arguing, he just sat down on the bottom bunk as soon as they entered the room, leaving Otacon to sit on the lone chair in the corner if they wanted to talk face to face.

Snake pulled the clothes bag closer, opening it to pull out their filthiest clothes, dumping them on the bed beside him.

“What are you doing?” asked Otacon, closing the door behind him.

“Laundry. We can use hand soap and the bathroom sink, hang them to dry at the end of the bed overnight.”

Otacon’s eyebrows raised. He gave an approving nod.  “ Smart.”

“I’ll leave some clean-ish shirts dry so we can use them to towel off. I don’t know about you, but I’m really excited about that shower.”

“I checked out the bathrooms on the way up. They’re big open public showers, like at the pool and stuff,” said Otacon, shifting uncomfortably. 

“We would have had to use ones like it at the rec center anyways, what’s the problem?” asked Snake

Otacon laughed nervously. “I guess you’re right. I just didn’t think about it. Forget I said anything.”

Snake was used to Otacon’s prudishness. He’d broken him of much of it as they’d travelled together sharing beds and tiny one room hovels. This wasn’t like that, there was no girlish blushing, just a stiff spine and averted eyes.

“Are you alright?” Snake frowned.

“I’d—” Otacon stopped, lips pursed. “Why don’t we go now? We can do laundry after?” Otacon suggested. Snake didn’t argue. it wasn’t his place to pry. He handed Otacon a fairly clean teeshirt and took another for himself. 

It was late and the showers were empty this time of night. Otacon only had a moment of discomfort, casting his gaze to the floor and away from Snake before his jaw clenched and he stripped, hopping into the stream of water that alternated scalding hot to barely lukewarm. Snake followed suit, scrubbing himself down with the chemically smelling hair and body wash from the wall dispenser.

Normally he wouldn’t care, however, Otacon’s obvious anxiety made him hyper-aware of their situation. For the sake of his partner, he kept his eyes firmly glued to the wall or the floor. There was something more to this resurgence of bashfulness, but damned if Snake could figure it out.

As they were drying off and re-dressing, they were joined by a younger man, probably in his early twenties. He didn’t even glance their way, heading straight for the showers and stripping down like they weren’t even there.

Otacon froze when he came in, shirt halfway up his arms. Snake grabbed the hem, yanking it over his head and ushering him back to their room.

“Are you alright?” He asked once the door was shut. Otacon shook his head.

“I’m fine, I just— I don’t like being naked around strangers.” He shrugged, looking down at the floor, the grotty carpet infinitely more interesting than eye contact, it seemed.

It was an obvious lie, as Otacon was just as uncomfortable being naked around him. Or maybe he still thought of Snake as a ‘stranger’. That shouldn’t bother him as much as it did.    

‘What about me?’, Snake almost asked. “Help me with these filthy clothes, the bathroom should be empty again,” is what he said instead.

Wet clothes hung from the end of the bed, Snake worried they wouldn’t dry while they slept, considering how cold the room was, but they could always hang them again in whatever shuttle they procured. Snake took the bottom bunk, leaving Otacon to clamber up the ladder to find his own bed. The streetlights outside had dimmed accordingly to mimic Earth night, but Snake still found them irritating, closing the curtains to block the glare.

Sleep would not come easy, despite how tired he was. He rolled onto his side, pulling the blankets around himself. He needed to sleep, he needed to be ready for this mission. Who know the next time he’d be able to sleep in a bed? Above him, he heard Otacon tossing and turning as well. He closed his eyes and slammed his head back on the pillow. He almost swore, but out of respect for his roommate he settled for a long sigh, hissed between his teeth.

The bed jiggled. He saw a foot descend and a body soon followed. Otacon padded out of the room without a glance in his direction. When the door opened and light spilled in the room Snake could see his eyes were red and bloodshot. He didn’t take long. On returning Snake could see his face looked red and scrubbed.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” he asked, making Otacon jump.

“So much for a good night’s sleep. This plan sucked.” Otacon rubbed his eyes with the heel of h is palm. Snake almost asked him if he was alright, almost, before deciding that was a stupid question he already knew the answer to.

“Must be the cold,” he said. “Always keeps me up.”

“Y—yeah.” Snake watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but him, but making no effort to climb back into his own bed.

“Grab your blanket, we can double up, at least be warm if we’re not going to sleep.” It was a testament to how much whatever Otacon had going on was upsetting him that he didn’t even give the slightest protest. He just pulled his blanket down, throwing it over Snake’s bed and crawling in after..

Snake was glad he didn’t thank him, wasn’t sure how he could possibly respond to that. Otacon was… he was a man of many mysteries and Snake had enough of his own troubles without dragging Otacon’s out into the open.  

The body lying inches from him was stiff as a board. Snake almost groaned. This wasn’t going to do shit if the man couldn’t relax for two seconds. Snake grabbed him by the middle, dragging him away from the very edge of the bed. This earned him an unmanly squawk. “You’ll fall off with all your tossing and turning,” he said, placing a hand on Otacon’s shoulder. “Get some rest.” Otacon nodded, still facing away from him, but Snake felt him relax a little under his hand.  
  
Though he was loathe to admit it, he found once Otacon joined him, he began to drift, his body relaxing. He supposed he’d grown used to sleeping next to another person. That was dangerous and a habit he’d have to train himself out of, but for the night… for the night, he let himself relax and be lulled to sleep by steady breaths beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading an all your amazing supportive comments, it really means a lot to me and I'm just so thrilled people are enjoying this. I'm really excited to share more of this story with you all!


	9. Act One: Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuff gets blown up, Snake gets kinda tipsy, and Otacon is nervous but when is he not nervous let's be honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is up guys! Hope everyone is doing well, here is chapter nine. Thanks so much for all the awesome comments, you guys make my year! I'm serious, every time i get an email notification from AO3 i clutch my heart and start wheezing, it's really kind of awful to behold. I check my email at work a lot because I'm a bad employee and it's really hard to explain to my cowokers why I'm making a noise like an asthmatic penguin.

For the largest spaceport on Titian, their security was apparently laughable, at least according to Otacon, who swapped out the camera footage for the cameras they were trying to avoid with the previous day’s recording.

They decided against stealing a shuttle. It would draw too much attention once the pilot figured out what was going on. Instead, they rented a shuttle from a pilot who had just finished a cargo run. The pilot would pick up his shuttle again on Europa and no one would be any the wiser. Their only loose end would be the pilot himself, but they gave false names and Europa was nowhere near where they were planning their operation.

Otacon was breathing heavily by the time they were safely inside the ship. “I keep thinking we’re going to get caught.” The size of the spaceport both increased and decreased their chances of being recognized. On one hand, it was large enough that they could blend in with the crowd, or at least try to; on the other, the larger port meant increased security and a higher likelihood that members of security had been told to look out for them. Otacon wiped sweat from his forehead, settling in to the co-pilot’s seat.

“Ever flown one of these before?” Snake asked, buckling himself in. Otacon shook his head. Commercial shuttles had a completely different configuration from military transport shuttles. They had nonexistent defensive capabilities, their shields barely  adequate to deal with the impact of minor debris, let alone blaster fire. They were bulkier and less maneuverable, shit acceleration; it was like switching from a brand new car with automatic transmission to a standard with bad brakes and a sticky shift stick. Not that Snake had actually seen anyone drive a ‘standard’ outside of an old CO who collected and maintained old cars, retrofitting them to run on battery.  

“I know the basic theory, but I’ve never actually gotten a chance.” He shrugged, giving Snake a nervous glance. “I guess I’m about to learn?”

Snake grinned, starting the engine. “You’re my getaway driver.”

“Oh boy,” Otacon replied with little enthusiasm, watching Snake enter the launch sequence.

“You getting all this?” he asked, turning on navigation and atmospheric thrusters.

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Otacon was starting to look slightly intimidated, shrinking back from the console.

“Once you get them in the air, these things practically fly themselves.” Snake reached over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I have faith in you.”

“At least one of us does.” Snake smirked and opened a channel to port operations.

“This is the Mary-Anne, ready for launch, are we clear?”

A crisp female voice echoed back over the radio. “Skies are clear. Mary-Anne, you are clear to launch.”

“Acknowledged,” Snake replied. The docking clamps released and Snake tapped the console, bringing the shuttle to life. The engine rumbled under them and Otacon jumped. Snake chuckled and Otacon glanced over at him. “Let’s just hope this thing doesn’t explode before we can get out of the atmosphere.” Otacon’s flat tone made Snake glance over at his partner, eyebrow raised, but he found him smirking back at him. Snake laughed, taking off a little faster than necessary, laughing harder when Otacon was slammed back into his seat, wide eyed.

“You know it  _ has  _ been a while since I’ve flown one of these. I hope I still remember.”

“Don’t even joke.” Otacon had a white knuckled grip on his armrests. “I’m still scared they’re going to find out we’re impostors and shoot us out of the sky!”

“Relax, they’ll give us a warning first.” He nodded to the radio. “You hear that? Silence.”

Otacon looked unconvinced, but his grip on the armrests loosened somewhat.

* * *

 

Getting into the base had been fine. Snake had landed them while Otacon accessed their security systems and ensured their ship wouldn’t be picked up by any sensors. It wouldn’t help if anyone physically saw them, but it was better than nothing, and with any hope, Snake would be in and out before anyone was wiser. He yanked on a pair of grav boots and an oxygen mask and made his way across the asteroid to the base itself.

There was one main entrance, but only one security guard. There were of course, cameras, but their technology was out of date, and Snake was able to use a disruptor device — a grey sphere with about a two-inch circumference — Otacon put together. The downside was that it would disrupt  _ all  _ electronic devices within a certain radius, which meant that Snake had to wait for the entrance to be open before he could use it, giving him a very small window of opportunity to incapacitate the guard and get in before the effects of the disrupter wore off.

When the time came, he pulled it off flawlessly. It meant that he had to take out two guards, as the next time the door opened was when the guard was switching over. From where he hid, crouched along the side of the building, he rolled the disrupter in range of the cameras and doors, waiting the three seconds it would take to activate before pulling out his blaster, set to stun, and taking out the guards before they got a chance to react. He didn’t think they even saw him, too engrossed in conversation to notice anything amiss. 

He had about thirty seconds before the cameras came back online and the doors slid shut. He sprinted from his hiding place and unceremoniously dragged the unconscious bodies inside with seconds to spare. A supply closet halfway down the hall provided the perfect place to stash the bodies, and Snake made quick work of it. They would probably wake up an hour later with some strange bruises and cramped legs, but nothing permanent. It was better than having to kill them.

“Otacon, I’m in and the hall’s clear,” Snake reported. “Where to next?”

“ _ Keep going straight, and at the end of the hall, turn left. According to your nanos, you’re clear of life signs other than the two you just took care of for the next hundred meters. I’ll let you know as soon as that changes.” _

It was almost perfect. Snake barely had to avoid anyone. The halls were so empty, he guessed they were on a skeleton crew. He and Otacon had suspected this was just a storage facility. Otacon had found (well,  _ accessed _ ) records of cargo ships large enough to house several Metal Gears having made contact within the last month. The base was deep enough into UFP territory and small enough that it had completely escaped EAM scrutiny. Otacon had only found it by scouring the notes they’d downloaded from the base on Titan. 

The plan was simple — plug in Otacon’s USB and let it download whatever it could while Snake attached explosives to whatever Metal Gears were in the facility. On an asteroid this size, Otacon didn’t want to risk remotely accessing the computer. If he was noticed, it would be easy to track him down, and in a cargo shuttle, he was a sitting duck with only a small handheld blaster to protect himself.  As it turned out, there were only three in the enormous hangar bay — older models — and Snake didn’t even have to consult Otacon to figure out where to best but the explosives, since he’d piloted all three types during his military career.

Otacon warned him of life signs moving closer, but due to the size of the hangar, it only gave Snake a few moments to slide behind a Metal Gear before three figures in UFP uniform entered. They were heading straight for the computer terminal in the far corner. If they spotted Otacon’s USB, they’d raise an alert and they’d probably find Otacon, alone, barely armed, with no formal weapons training. Snake would have to get on that.

He leaned out from behind the leg of the Metal Gear and fired his first shot, taking out the closest man. The other uniformed figures with him spun in his direction and Snake was only able to stun one more before the third started sprinting towards a shipping crate. Snake saw him reaching towards their neck to access his comm. Snake barely had time to aim before firing, the shot hitting the soldier's hand and paralyzing his arm rather than than incapacitating him. The shot slowed him enough that Snake was able to hit him before he were out of his sightline.

He grabbed Otacon’s USB before the alarm sounded. He glanced around the room and saw the third figure, the one he’d had to shoot twice, moving. He swore. He must be resilient to still be conscious, but Snake should have checked.

Shooting his way out was a nightmare, but at least Otacon wouldn’t be able to blame himself for the hell that was being unleashed.

“Otacon, meet me out front, but if they fire on you, get the hell out of there!”

Two guards were waiting for him when Snake opened the door out of the hangar, he pressed his back to the wall, peering around the steel door jamb. He had to snap back when they started shooting at him, blaster fire leaving blackened marks on the far wall. 

“ _ What about you?”  _ Otacon demanded. In the background, Snake could hear the rumble of the engine.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll lose them once I get outside if I have to.”

Otacon didn’t reply and Snake could only hope his orders wouldn’t be disregarded. Otacon had no experience piloting out of a firefight, and he was more likely to get himself killed and strand Snake on this godforsaken rock than actually perform a rescue. Fortunately, Otacon’s obedience wasn’t tested. Snake had incapacitated as many guards as he could on his way out, and there were only a few UFP soldiers firing at them when Otacon landed in front of the base. They would have to apologize to the Mary-Anne’s pilot for the pit-marks left by blaster fire. Snake took over for Otacon once he was safely in the shuttle. He put Otacon in charge of detonating the explosives. He felt a twinge of regret that most of the hangar and anyone left in it would be destroyed, but he kept it to himself. Otacon was the one pressing the button. He didn’t need that kind of guilt eating at him.

“Um, Snake?” Otacon had tapped his shoulder once they were out of blaster range.

“What?” Snake growled, his teeth clenched together in a mixture of concentration and frustration.

“I’ve got something to show you, but you’re not going to like it.”

* * *

 

Snake needed a drink. Snake needed several drinks. This whole thing was getting wildly out of hand. This, destroying REX, preventing new Metal Gears from being built, it was starting to look like a sisyphean task if he ever saw one.

Otacon shut the door behind him and Snake swore, stomping over to the synthesizer. The hardest liquor he could synthesize would only get him buzzed at best, but it was better than nothing at this point. He felt Otacon’s eyes on him and he resisted the urge to snap at him again.

Shouting at Otacon would not unmake the  _ fucking army _ of Metal Gears that the UFP were currently developing. There was no way the Alliance didn’t know. It must have been why they dragged him back in the first place, to prepare for this.

During the last two months, the base had been used as a drop-point for supplies being taken to the front lines, one of several. No less than fifty Metal Gears had passed through, and parts that Otacon identified as components for putting together at least six REXs. They were moving too fast for this to be anything but a prelude to a much larger strike. The Alliance had to know that, and if this was just a portion of the bases being used for such purposes, how many Metal Gears did they have? How many REXs were they assembling?

Snake punched the code into the synthesizer, a little harder than necessary. He could feel Otacon hovering behind him, the tension of him desperately wanting to say something. He grabbed his glass, draining it and entering the code again.

“What?” he demanded, spinning around to face his nervous partner.

“I’m sorry,” Otacon replied, eyes quickly cast down at the floor. Snake bit back an angry retort, instead sucking in a deep breath through his nose, then exhaling through his mouth.

“I know.”

He threw back his second drink as quickly as the first one and readied himself for a third. He jerked in surprise when he felt a hand on his arm and fought against his training with every ounce of willpower so he wouldn’t break Otacon’s face against the wall. He glanced down at his hand, and then back up to meet Otacon’s eyes, reaching for his third glass.

“D-do you think you should slow down?” Otacon asked, his voice quivering.

Snake shrugged and took a slower sip, locking eyes with Otacon. He was being a dick and he would feel bad about it in the morning. He needed to not be sober anymore if he was going to handle the next few hours before he passed out.

Otacon let go, biting his lip as he backed away. He sat down at the end of the bed, eyes darting nervously from side to side, never resting on Snake for long. His lips kept parting like he would start talking but no sound came out. Eventually he leaned forward, head resting in his hands.

Snake sat down beside him, fourth drink in hand. He could feel the warm sensation of inebriation wrapping itself around him like a greeting from an old friend. “Do you want one?” he asked. Like he’d expected, Otacon shook his head.

Otacon’s glasses were askew and Snake put his empty glass down at his feet so he could reach over to fix them. His earlier outbursts still fresh, he was mindful to be gentle and not make any sudden movements. Otacon had a habit of cringing like was was going to be hit when Snake got like this.

“How the hell are we going to get through this, right?” asked Snake, sitting back down after grabbing his fifth drink, or was it his sixth? He was starting to lose track, which was a good sign.

“Hm?” Otacon peered up at him through his hair, his hands wedged between his knees, his shoulders hunched. He was as pale as he’d been when Snake had kicked him out of the pilot's seat to drive them out of the firefight, only his eyes weren’t alight with fear anymore — they were dull and glassy.

“I mean, sure, when it was just a case of trying to eliminate the ones they’d already built, maybe try and destroy the blueprints, it all seemed feasible. But now…? Christ, Otacon what have we gotten ourselves into? What can we even hope to accomplish?” Snake flopped back on the bed, his arm dangling over the side, fingers losing their grip on his glass. It fell to the floor with a dull thunk, blessedly empty.

“I don’t understand. You don’t think we accomplished anything today?” Otacon asked, genuinely surprised, it seemed.

“We destroyed three Metal Gears out of how many now? It’s like eating rice one grain at a time while someone in the other room is making another pot.”

“So we keep them working, keep them sweating. We’re letting them know that this won’t go unchecked. There will never be a peaceful solution if no one demands it. That’s what we’re doing, that’s what we did today, and that’s what I plan to keep doing.” Otacon paused, looking down at Snake. “Even if we only save ten people it was worth it — even if we only save one. I can’t just sit here and do nothing just because the task seems too big. The only thing worse than failing this mission is to never even  _ try _ .” By the time he finished his little speech, his face was red with a mixture of determination and embarrassment.

Snake reached up and grabbed Otacon’s arm, tugging him down so he lay beside him and

they were face to face. He patted Otacon’s shoulder. “You’re a better man than me.”

Otacon shook his head. “You can’t possibly know that, how can you even—”

“After that speech?” Snake smirked. “I think I know what I’m talking about.”

Otacon cringed, his shoulders tensing under Snake’s hand. “You don’t know the kind of things I’ve done. Things that I can’t make up for no matter how many speeches I make.”

“Whatever you’ve done in the past, that’s not the man I see now.” Snake was starting to slur and he hoped it wouldn’t take away from the sincerity of his words.

“I—”

“Shh, you should go to sleep. It’s been a long day.” Otacon tilted his head, giving Snake a quizzical look before sitting up to pull of his jeans.

“You too. You’ve had a harder day than me.” Otacon, now down to his teeshirt and boxers, climbed under the covers, his head dropping onto the pillow heavy enough for Snake to hear it. Snake soon followed suit, though he found himself undressing even less elegantly than Otacon, and grace was not a word he would associate with his partner.

He dropped his clothes onto the floor. His only struggle came when he couldn’t figure out how the comforter and the sheet were tucked into the bed. He almost unmade the whole thing before Otacon took pity on him and pulled the sheet up for him, lifting the blanket to allow him to crawl in. Snake slid under the covers. Otacon turned away from him to sleep on his side. This wasn’t unusual and often they would end up sleeping back to back, spines just touching. Snake reached up to turn off the light and moved in so his chest was pressed flush against Otacon’s back, arm draped over his side.

Otacon was tense under his arm. Snake let his forehead rest against the nape of Otacon’s neck. They’d been doing this long enough that Otacon should be used to it by now. Well not this specifically, this was kind of new, but they shared a bed pretty much every night. Snake liked how warm he felt against him. It was… nice. Nice to have another living being around. He’d missed that from his time before special ops, the camaraderie. Not that he’d go back to EAM for anything, not anymore.

“Go to sleep,” he told Otacon as much as himself.

“A-alright?” Otacon replied, his body relaxing enough for Snake to do the same. Things were shit, the mission was shit, the Alliance and the UFP were shit, but this, this was good.  

* * *

 

Snake woke with a hangover like he hadn’t had in months. Part of that might have been the exertion from the day before. Snake untangled his legs from Otacon’s and stumbled towards the bathroom, glancing back as his partner groaned, the movement waking him.

“What time is it?” Otacon grumbled into his pillow. Snake glanced over at the clock beside the bed.

“Just after seven,” he replied, finding his pants on the floor. He almost tugged them on before he gave them a quick sniff. Wrinkling his nose, he threw them back on the ground, crouching down at the end of the bed to paw through their bags instead.

“Ugh, seven. What does that even mean anymore? What timezone could we possibly adhere to?”

Snake smirked, finding a clean pair of jeans and underwear. He looked down at his filthy hands and then back up at Otacon.

“I’m going to take a shower. Need the bathroom before I do?” Otacon let out something like a groan and a laugh.

“I’m not getting out of this bed for at least another ten minutes. It’s all yours.”

The water alternated hot and warm but it never went cold and for that, Snake supposed, he should be grateful. He felt better once he was clean. His head felt clearer.

Otacon was next in line for the shower. By the time Snake had punched in breakfast at the synthesizer and set it on the table, Otacon was coming out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist. Snake finished his first cup of shitty synthesized coffee and was debating a second one when Otacon, dressed, but hair still wet, sat down across from him, looking down at his plate. Eggs, toast, sausage—

“No bacon?” Otacon asked, tearing into his toast.

“You’ve never had bacon from a cheap synthesizer like this.” Snake shook his head. “Trust me, stick with sausage.”

Otacon shrugged and continued to devour his breakfast. “I guess we should talk about our next move, from here I mean,” said Otacon around a mouthful of eggs.

Snake tried not to let the words bring back memories of anger and helplessness from the night before. Otacon was right. They needed to consider their next move and quickly, time and resources were not on their side.

“We have to figure out where we can hit production hardest, on either side, and we’ll have to get caught doing it.”

“Get caught!?” Otacon’s head jerked up in surprise. “You can’t possibly mean—”

“Not captured, no.” Snake pushed the remnants of his breakfast around his plate, staring at the rubbery scrambled eggs like they would give him the answers he needed. “But we need whoever we hit to know this was an outside job. The last thing we want to do is escalate the war we are trying to prevent.”

“Right,” Otacon said warily.  

“Something on your mind?” Snake asked, leaning on the table and resting his head in one hand, plate pushed to the side.

“It—it just seems awfully risky. What if you do get caught? Like actually captured?” Otacon worried at his lip.

“Let me worry about that.” Snake stood, clearing their plates and tossing everything in the recycler. “For now, we should concentrate on what we are going to do right now. Can we stay here for one? Can we afford it?”

“I’ve got it covered. We’ll be fine to stay here for at least another few weeks.”

“How much have we got in reserve?” Snake asked, stretching his arms behind his back. He was thinking about a run.

“I—ah, well, that is to say…” Snake frowned as Otacon pulled of his glasses, cleaning them with his shirt.

“It’s a reasonable question, Otacon,” Snake said, voice low. Otacon looked down at his knees, glasses still in hand.

“You never asked before,” Otacon replied, more than a little defensive.

“If we’re broke, tell me now, because the savings I entrusted to you must have run dry by now and I can’t imagine you having much more than me in reserve.”

Otacon waved his hands in front of his face, shaking his head. “It’s not like that! I haven’t touched your money.”

“Then whose money have we been spending?” Snake’s eyes narrowed. “If this is going to bite us in the ass, I’d like to know sooner rather than later.”

“God, no! I...” Otacon looked down, the anxious look on his face still there, but somewhat subdued the longer he sat quiet. “I guess it’s technically my money. I’m just not going through the proper channels to get it. I didn’t want our transactions to be tracked.”

Snake crossed his arms, nodding for Otacon to continue.

“I—it’s my inheritance, from my father. I was… I was angry at him and I never wanted to touch it before. But I thought maybe… maybe if I spent it on this it might… make up for some of the damage we’ve both caused.” Otacon put his glasses back on, adjusting them with nervous fingers. “It felt right, somehow.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Snake.

“I don’t know? I thought you might not like it?” Otacon shook his head, “I guess it felt a bit like blood money, geez I don’t know.” Otacon wrapped his arms around his middle, shrugging.

“I’m not mad at you,” said Snake, noting Otacon's obvious discomfort. “You’re right though, I don’t like it, but that doesn’t mean you’re wrong to use it.” Snake gave Otacon a crooked grin. “Besides, if you think about it, my money’s blood money too, and I don’t see you complaining about that.”

Otacon’s head jerked up, his eyebrows raised, but he quickly regained composure, pushing his glasses back up from where they’d slipped to the tip of his nose.

“So since money’s not an issue, at least not for a while, we should stay here and plan our next move. Speaking of…” Otacon pulled out the tablet, launching into detail about the next possible targets. Snake moved his chair so he could sit beside him, leaning over his shoulder to see the screen. It wasn’t a real plan, nothing close to a real plan, but Otacon was right, they were doing  _ something _ and that was more encouraging than Snake expected it to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ante is upped, shit's super bad, will our heroes triumph!? Also is it kind of obvious that my fave trope ever is bed sharing? Because it is.


	10. Act One: Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Snake and Otacon drink bad coffee and talk about their childhoods

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is a bit of a shorter chapter but on the bright side I feel really positive about the next chapter so it should be out sooner rather than later!

Otacon was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as Snake started the car. Computer equipment sat at his feet and he’d stated he was determined to get some work done on the way to the spaceport. Driving was slow going and he wished they had a shuttle, something faster than ground transport at any rate. He sighed, taking long drags from his e-cig. He’d smoked the last of his real cigarettes two days prior in a fit of pique and was beginning to regret it as the next six hours loomed ahead.

Otacon was boring company at the moment; he had headphones plugged in, tapping away at his screen with nimble, dexterous fingers. He was… dedicated, that much was apparent. For Snake almost all his work was done within the course of a mission, he liked it that way, his stress was focused, had a beginning and an end.

Otacon worked tirelessly before, during, and after a mission. Snake had never met anyone who got less sleep than he did until he met Otacon. He would fall asleep and wake with Otacon still pouring over the same three exit strategies, eyes red and hands shaking with exhaustion. The miscalculation during the first mission had rattled him. His determination to never make a mistake again was admirable, but borderline unhealthy. Every time Snake suggested he take a break or ease up a little, Otacon would tersely remind him exactly whose safety was on the line and then promptly ignore his suggestions. It was starting to worry him a little, but there was little he could do to stop him short of physical force, and he wouldn’t do that to his partner.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his arm, grip tight, fingers biting into the flesh of his forearm past his rolled up sleeves. He managed not to swerve, thought it was a near thing. He glanced over and wasn’t much liking the look on Otacon’s face. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung ever so slightly open, his jaw trembling, almost like he was shivering.

“You have to pull over,” he insisted, his voice as anxious as his expression.

“What?” Snake frowned, easing up on the gas pedal.

“You have to look at this,” Otacon pushed, nails biting into his arm. “Now!”

It was the shout that shook Snake the most. He pulled over at the side of the road and Otacon finally released his arm. He unceremoniously shoved a tablet into his hands; multiple tabs were open, most of them bearing the Earth Alliance insignia.

“Tell me I’m reading this wrong.” Otacon’s voice shook. “Tell me there’s some military code I’m mixing up or that these are fake. I- I shouldn’t be able to even access orders like this I must have downloaded it accidentally, shit if they notice I found this they could try and track us down and—”

“Quiet,” Snake ordered, unsure he wanted to believe his own eyes. Otacon’s rambling was not helping. “Where did you get this?”

“I was trying to download some stuff on recent military activity, try and see where they’d deploy next, but like really basic stuff, things that people with family in the marines would know. This… this is top secret. Once the mission is done, they might even destroy the records, deny they were ever involved. This is—”

“Fucked. This is fucked. I hate that I can’t even pretend to be surprised anymore “ Snake could feel the plastic bending under his fingers, his grip tightening as his anger rose. He passed it back to Otacon. “These orders were signed off on by Earth’s president himself.”

“We have to do something.”

He was right. Even if Otacon weren’t so desperate, Snake couldn’t let this rest. It looked to be basic bombing raid on a UFP base suspected of housing a good chunk of their arsenal. It was war, this kind of thing happened. It would have been fine if the Proteus base they were planning on bombing wasn’t smack in the middle of the largest colony located in the Pharos crater. There was a high probability that base had nukes, and by the time the EAM was done, the Pharos colony would be nothing but the crater they’d taken their name from.

“Start trying to get a message through to anyone there. If the date stamp on this is right, they’ll move in a few days. With a colony that small, though, there’s a good chance they’ve only got basic communications equipment. Contact the UFP base if you have to.”

Otacon nodded, his hands already busy. “I’ll see if I can get a satellite message out, but even if I manage to get one out this instant, if they don’t have anything advanced, it’ll be 24-48 hours before anything i send will reach them.”

“We’ll just have to hope that’s enough.”

The air in the car was thick with tension, Snake drove, e-cig long dried up but it still dangled from his lips. He didn’t dare ask Otacon if he’d succeeded. As the hours ticked by, he began to dread the answer.

Otacon swore violently as he threw the tablet down on the floor by his feet. His scrubbed at his face with his palms, his cheeks wet and red.

“How long if we got the fastest shuttle to Neptune?” He asked, his voice steadier than his scrubbed face would imply.

_ Ten to fourteen days _ , Snake thought, his hands clenched tighter around the steering wheel. So he’d failed, at least for the time being.

“You already know the answer to that,” he replied, his eyes dead ahead. He couldn’t stand to look at that hopeless expression any longer.

“We’re going,” said Otacon. It was the first time Snake had ever heard him say anything resembling an order. It should have rubbed him the wrong way, but instead, he felt a stir of pride at the firm tone.

“You know even if we do, it’s a longshot that we’ll be able to do anything. If we can’t get a message through, there might not even be anyone left to save.” He didn’t mean it as a rebuff, but Otacon cringed all the same. Snake sighed and kept his eyes on the road. “And what about our next mission?”  

“Whatever we were planning on blowing up next can wait,” Otacon retorted, or at least he tried to. His voice wavered and he looked at his lap.      

Snake kept driving, it was the best distraction he had, and it was the only thing he could do. Otacon was right. Fuck their plans, they had to get to Proteus, and they had to get there yesterday. If there was the slightest chance that they could help one person, Otacon would never forgive him if he refused—he couldn’t forgive himself.

“I wasn’t rejecting the idea, I just wanted to make sure all our cards were on the table,” said Snake. “I want to make sure you’re thinking this through.”

“Oh,” said Otacon, head snapping around to look at Snake. He nodded furiously, “Yes, o-of course.”

“Fill me in while I drive and try and get us tickets for the next passenger cruiser to Neptune.”

“R-right.” Otacon swiped his hand across the screen, pulling up booking information. “Thank you,” he said, quieter.

“Don’t thank me,” Snake replied, fingers tight on the steering wheel. “This one was all you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Otacon glanced over at Snake, frowning, but quickly looked back at his screen to fill in the passenger applications.

“I’m your partner, not your keeper,” Snake explained. “That means that, on occasion, we trust each other.”

“Oh,” said Otacon, “Well… thank you for that then."

Snake snorted, shaking his head, and Otacon got back to work, fingers moving so fast in Snake’s peripheral that they were almost distracting. Snake didn’t know what kind of working conditions Otacon had been in before, hell he didn’t even know what kind of life Otacon had had before, but if he could, Snake would break Otacon of his fear.    

The longer Otacon worked, the more obviously futile his actions were becoming. They’d been driving for five hours straight, and on the horizon Snake could make out the lights of Titan Four. Anxiety was a dry mouth and a tight knot in his stomach, and glancing over at Otacon, he could see his partner was much the same. Tight lipped and creased brow, Otacon looked over and shook his head.

 

* * *

  
  


They didn’t borrow a shuttle this time. instead, Otacon had booked them tickets on a regular passenger liner, express to Triton. It was busy enough that they had to cough up for business class accommodations, since economy was completely full. They were lucky to have made it at all really, as the ship was set to launch in about five hours, the next one being in about a week.

There were only about forty passengers, mostly families. There were a few professionals who shared accommodations beside Snake and Otacon. The private room was a blessing; it allowed them to keep working without suspicion. Economy class was set with rows of seats that folded back at ship’s night for sleeping. Their room had beds that folded up into couches for the day, and even its own sink.

Snake took advantage of the opportunity to wash his face and shave for the first time in weeks. The water was hot, and under the sink were prepackaged complimentary toiletries like razors and soap. He would have washed his hair as well, but Otacon had some sensitive looking electronics out and he didn’t want to risk splashing them in these close quarters.

The walking room between the two couches was about three feet. He supposed people were supposed to take advantage of the rec room and the cafeteria during the day instead of staying holed up in their rooms. There was little to be gained by socializing with the other passengers, and even though there wasn’t much he could do, it felt wrong to abandon Otacon to work by himself, like he was shirking his duty.

“Anything?” Snake asked, glancing across at Otacon’s furrowed brow. Otacon shook his head, frown deepening.

“No, and asking me five hundred times isn’t going to make that any less true,” he said through gritted teeth. They were both suffering from a severe case of cabin fever, Snake more than Otacon who had little to amuse himself and even less work that he could get done. Otacon had been forced to pull his feet up onto his couch as Snake used the tiny space between the benches to do sit-ups.

“Is there anything I can do?” He’d asked this question about five hundred times as well, but at least sometimes Otacon had an answer other than no.

“Yeah,” Otacon sighed and glanced back at Snake with bruised, red rimmed eyes, “A cup of coffee would be nice.”

“You didn’t sleep again.” Not a question. “You’re not helping anyone if you get yourself into a state like this.”

Otacon chewed his lip, looking back down at the screen. “I just… the closer we get, the better my chances are of getting through to them.” He took the keyboard off his lap, setting it down beside him so he could stand. He ran his fingers through his hair, back arching as he stretched. His shirt was ragged and far too big, it only rode up to the pockets on his jeans even as his arms stretched overhead.

“There’s a part of me that thinks that the attack already happened,” said Otacon, eyes on the ceiling, his arms stretched behind his back, knuckles cracking. “It scares me, Snake, that our government would be willing to do this, to go this far. What are they willing to do to get us back? It really makes me think. I mean, it’s not like they’ve just let us go. I know they’re searching.”

“Yeah…” Snake would be lying if he told him he hadn’t thought about that as well. He’d also be lying if he told Otacon he didn’t know exactly the kinds of things he knew they were willing to do. He’d been on ‘retrieval’ missions before. It was never pretty.

“Let’s go to the cafeteria. I know you haven’t eaten either and I’m starting to get cabin fever,” said Otacon, pulling on a stained hoodie and stepping out into the narrow business class hallway.

“I don’t think four days is long enough to develop cabin fever,” Snake replied, following him down the hall to the cafeteria.

The cafeteria was empty. It was about 3am ship’s time, so it wasn't exactly unusual. Otacon yawned and made a beeline for the synthesizers, making a cup of coffee first. Snake snatched it away before he could drink it.    

“I think you should stick to decaf. I want you to get some sleep when we get back to our cabin.”

Otacon rolled his eyes. “Geez Snake, no need to mother me.” But he acquiesced, punching in the code for decaf. They settled in at a nearby table, the chairs a little short for Snake’s legs, Otacon with his coffee and Snake with a bowl of granola.  

“Speaking of mothers, your file doesn't mention her,” Snake cautiously prodded once he had folded himself into his seat.

“You’re asking if she could endanger our mission?” Otacon smirked from behind his mug.

“Actually, I was trying to find out more about you,” Snake confessed. “There’s only so much you can learn by reading a dossier.”

“Oh.” Otacon rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. Ah, she’s dead. She died when I was really young.”

“I’m sorry,” said Snake, frowning. He stirred his granola absently, unsweetened yoghurt coating his spoon.

“Don’t be, I don’t even remember her.” Otacon let out a small bitter laugh. “I don’t even know what she looks like. My father, he, he wouldn’t talk about her, didn’t have any photographs. Hell, I tried to look her up once, using birth records, that sort of thing. Nothing, it’s like she never even existed. Sometimes I wonder if I wasn’t made in a test tube somewhere, but other times... I swear I can almost see the outline of a woman.”

“Oh,” said Snake. Was he supposed to offer comfort, more apologies? He hesitated raising his spoon to his mouth, unsure if it would be polite to continue eating after such a confession.

“Sorry, I kinda just dumped that on you,” Otacon laughed again, but this time it was lighter. “If you hadn’t already guessed, I don’t have a lot of friends, I don’t normally talk about myself and I guess it sort of just all came out at once.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Snake replied, relieved Otacon’s outburst hadn't been his fault. “I did ask.”

“I guess you did.” Otacon looked puzzled at that. “Anything else you want to know?”

“It’s a conversation, not an interrogation.” Snake reached across the table to pat Otacon on the arm. “It’s not like I’ve got a checklist.”

“Oh.” Otacon laughed sheepishly, casting his eyes down to his cup. “Right. Like I said, I’m not used to talking about myself.”

“If you’d rather just talk about the mission, we can keep it strictly business,” Snake supplied. It wasn’t like they were friends anyways, at least not as far as he was aware. Partners, sure, but Snake was no good at anything else. The last friend he’d had, he’d killed in cold blood. He glanced away from Otacon, lest the memory show on his face.

“O-oh, no I mean, I’m fine with it, I’m just— ah geez.” Otacon rubbed a palm over his forehead, pushing back his hair. “I’m just no good at this. But if you want to, I’d like to know more about you, too. You did save my life, after all.” Otacon smiled, and Snake felt a warm surge in his chest that he quickly quashed.

“There’s not much to tell.” Snake shrugged, unsure of how much he wanted to share. He reminded himself this was his own fault; he had started it. “I grew up in foster care, and enlisted as soon as I was of age.”

“You’re an orphan?” Otacon asked, eyebrows raised.

“Uh, pretty much, yeah.” Not the whole truth, but he certainly wasn’t ready to share  _ that _ particular story. As far as the paperwork was concerned, he was one.

“You never got adopted? I mean, you must have been a cute kid,” Otacon asked, leaning forwards, arms propped on the table.

“Cute kid? How’d you figure?” Snake raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I mean looking at you now, I… well, that is to say…” Otacon flushed, looking down. “Nevermind, I don’t know.”“Regardless, I wasn’t popular with a lot of my foster parents. I never really stayed with one family very long,” Snake let out a short, forced laugh. “I was a scrappy kid with a mean face and an eye for trouble. Spent a lot of time with skinned knees and bloody knuckles, and not all of it my own blood.”

“You got in a lot of fights?” Otacon asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

“You could say that.” Snake snorted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I started most of them, I was aggressive, out of control. I lashed out a lot. It’s hard enough to get people to adopt older kids, let alone violent ones with anger management issues.”

“You seem to have grown out of it, though?” Otacon asked, tentatively.

“Military life was good for that. Gave me something to focus on, and a target I was actually  _ allowed  _ to hit. I joined up when I was sixteen, as soon as I was legal.” Snake laughed again, but it was bitter this time. “As it turned out, not only did I enjoy violence, I was good at it, too. I got praised for it and everything.”

Snake glanced over at Otacon, nervously anticipating fear or distaste. He met wide eyes and a downturned mouth, expression sad and something like sympathy. He didn’t need pity, not for what he’d done. He looked away.

“And now? How do you feel about violence now?”

Snake pursed his lips, both unwilling and unable to look up and meet Otacon’s eye. He didn’t answer and seconds ticked by, silence stretching between them.  

“I’m tired. I think I’ll turn in for the night.” Snake stood fast enough that his chair nearly toppled backwards. He caught it with one hand, steadying it.

“Snake—“

“It’s alright, you finish up here. I won't be around to stop you from caffeinating yourself to hell and back.” ‘ _ Please don’t follow me’, _ is what he wanted to say. Despite Snake’s evasiveness, Otacon seemed to get the hint, or at the very least his shoulders slumped and he didn’t stand.

He thought he heard Otacon say his name again, but he was halfway out the door by the time he registered it and he wasn’t about to turn around.

“ _ How do you feel about violence now?”  _ What kind of answer was Otacon expecting? And what kind of answer was he looking for? “ _ Do you enjoy killing?”  _ The question that Otacon wouldn’t ask, at least Snake hoped he wouldn’t. He didn’t have an answer for him, not a simple one at any rate, and not one he could articulate to someone like him—an idealist.

Grey Fox would have understood, but Grey Fox was dead.  _ Big Boss would have understood, _ he thought before he could shut the thoughts out entirely.  

Back in their cabin, Snake pulled down his seat to set up the bed. He wasn’t physically tired, but nonetheless he felt exhausted. Everything felt too small and when he lay down on his bunk, it was about an inch too short for him to stretch out properly. He rolled over onto his side, back to the wall, tapping the control panel by his head to dim the lights.

Thoughts of Grey Fox, of Frank, came again, unbidden. He screwed his eyes shut as if that would keep him from remembering the way Frank had called to him from across the hangar bay. He swallowed, wishing he could forget the way Frank’s nose had crunched under his fist, the way he could practically hear the bones in his body break as they fought with the intent to kill. He wanted to forget how ready his friend had been to die, more than that, how much he had wanted to die. Snake had seen it in his eyes when he’d challenged him and again, when Fox lost, face beaten almost beyond recognition. He had looked up at Snake from the ground where he lay, and his eyes softened to say ‘ _ thank you’. _

When the door to the cabin slid open, Snake was grateful for the sudden noise, pulling him out of old memories.

“S-sorry,” Otacon stammered, the door sliding shut behind him. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“What time is it?” grumbled Snake, rolling onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep them from betraying his recent thoughts.

“Morning shift is switching over to ship’s day.” So Otacon had been waiting for hours. Before he’d looked away, he’d chanced a glance at Otacon’s red rimmed eyes—he wondered now if they were just from exhaustion.

“Guess we better get some shut eye.” Snake didn’t want to look at him. Something about Otacon was making him feel uneasy at the moment, perhaps it was how those eyes seemed to be probing. He wanted to turn his back entirely, face the wall, but his training wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m gonna try and get a connection again when I wake up.” Otacon chewed his lip, mercifully looking away from Snake. “D-don’t let me sleep too long.”

Snake shut his eyes, letting out a slow breath. He listened as Otacon pulled off his shirt, stepped out of his jeans, letting it all fall to the floor in a heap, before crawling into his bunk. It didn’t take long for his breathing to slow into a quiet rhythm.    

Snake envied Otacon’s peace, though he thought part of it might have just been complete and utter exhaustion. They had both been running on empty for so long. Though fast asleep, there was still something tense about his companion, his shoulders hunched up to his ears even as he slept.

When sleep finally did come, he was plagued by nightmares of what they might find on Proteus. Dead men with accusing fingers and a painful grip, wearing the faces of lost comrades he’d sooner forget. When he woke with a jolt some hours later, he did not find relief.


	11. Act One: Part Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake offers a teenager nicotine and Otacon is Stressed Out.

Walking through the rubble, Snake wasn’t sure what exactly he was feeling. One part guilt, another part fury, and yet another part something he couldn’t articulate. Otacon stood about twenty feet away, lit by one of several spotlights that had been set up around the camp to compensate for the loss of the daylight streetlamps. He was talking to one of the geologists, something about getting the water recycler up and running again. Snake hadn’t seen destruction like this up close in years, and in all his time with the EAM, he had never seen them attack a civilian population this large. At least the air filters and gravity regulators were still working; they had oxygen, for the time being.

He’d wanted to question the survivors, find out where the UFP base had been located, but Otacon had stopped him. He’d been right to; these people had other priorities right now. They didn’t need to go over that, not right that second at any rate.

It was even his home, but looking at the mess, looking at the ragged group of survivors, he felt hollowed out. 

Otacon was taking it hard, harder than he should be; it wasn’t his fault, not by a longshot. If he hadn’t found the orders in the first place, they wouldn’t be around to help the survivors. He had to keep telling himself that, both for Otacon’s sake and his own.

Survivors were those who either lived on the very outskirts of town, or those on scientific expeditions. The largest of those being a group of geologists. Less than fifty survivors. They hadn’t had a chance to do a proper tally.

He sifted through broken steel and cement, flashlight in hand, the dark frigid surface doing nothing for the mood. The survivors weren’t ready to talk plans yet, to start preparing in case the EAM did a second sweep. He dug through rubble under the pretense of scavenging, moving further and further away from the camp. He pretended he wasn’t just avoiding the shell-shocked looks of those left behind. It stirred something unbearably familiar in him.  

When they arrived, the lights on the front of the transport had illuminated the wreckage and Otacon’s legs had given out; only Snake’s quick reflexes and a grip on his arm had kept him from collapsing. They had stepped out of their rented transport, landing just outside the camp, and while the monitors had told them all they needed to know, seeing it firsthand was another experience. Otacon had gone to speak with the survivors while Snake was left to wander through the ruins of the city.

Snake paused when he heard grunting and a grinding noise in the distance. He shone his flashlight on a shuffling figure struggling to lift a particularly large piece of concrete. Curiosity got the better of him and he drew closer. As he approached, the figure took shape: a woman, no, a girl, seventeen at most. Her face was smeared with pale ash except where sweat had drawn dark lines through the dirt. Her thick black hair was pulled back under a scarf, though stray curls escaped the sides. She glanced over at him when he made his footsteps audible, then back at her work.

She heaved the concrete mass, having barely moved it since Snake started watching her. It blocked the entrance to a collapsed housing unit. The thick gloves she wore seemed to be doing little good, torn in some places to reveal raw, scraped skin. Despite rapidly cooling air due to the temperature regulators being knocked out by the bombing, she was sweating profusely. She barely acknowledged him when Snake grabbed a corner of the concrete and began to heave with her. It didn’t take them long to finally move the mass, pushing it out of the way to reveal a collapsed doorway. Rubble on the inside blocked further entry into the building. She brushed her hands off on her knees and righted a dusty patio chair, sinking down into it. She rested her head in her hands and let out a long, shaky, sigh. Snake stood, unsure if he should leave. When she didn’t look up, he turned to go. Whatever he’d walked in on, this was private.

“ Who are you?” the girl asked before he took two steps.

“ Me and my partner were passing through the area. We heard a distress signal and came to investigate.”

“ You’re lying, but that’s fine.” She looked up, propping her chin on her hand. She hadn’t been crying, Snake saw, at least not as far as he could tell. She just looked exhausted. “I didn’t ask why you were here. I just wanted to know who you are.”

“ The name’s Plissken,” he lied easily. It was an identity he’d used before and one he’d grown rather attached to.

“ Amara,” she replied, extending a gloved hand.

He accepted. Her handshake was firm and her hands stronger than they appeared.

“ That’s my house,” she said, pointing to the building with the collapsed entrance. “At least it was.”

“ Family?” Snake asked. She nodded.

Snake sat down on a pile of rubble across from her, propping his flashlight by his feet. “I’m sorry.”

She stared at him. “Everyone is, everyone on the team, all the other survivors.”

“ I’m sure you’re not the only one who lost family.”

“ No,” she shook her head, “but I’m the youngest.” She shifted in her seat, pulling her knees up to her chin. The plastic chair creaked under her. “I wasn’t even supposed to be out there. Well, I mean, I was — it was part of a job placement program. The expedition team let me come along to observe. But I’m not a real scientist. If I hadn’t been such a keener I would have been here, with my family.”

Tears had started to leak out of the corners of her eyes and she furiously wiped them away with the hem of her sleeve.

“ You’d be dead,” said Snake. He pulled out one of his disposable e-cigs, uncomfortable witnessing this stranger’s pain, something he’d never want anyone to witness from him. He popped it in his mouth and offered her the other one.

                                                               

 

“ I’m sixteen,” she said, looking down at the little plastic device. He shrugged and continued to hold it out. When she didn’t take it, he tucked it back in his pocket.

“ You couldn’t have done anything,” he told her, taking a drag of minty vapour. He wrinkled his nose at it, but then the nicotine hit and he found he didn’t care quite so much about the taste.

“ If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a shit job,” she said, wiping her nose on her wrist.

“ Nothing I say is going to make you feel better. It would be pointless to try.”

She snorted and wiped her eyes again. “So what are you even doing here, then?”

“ It’s dangerous out here,” he said, and when he saw the hard look on her face he added, “and I sympathize.”

“ What would you know about it?” she demanded. Her eyes flashed angrily, tears threatening to spill over again.

“I’ve seen death. More than my fair share.” He frowned, unsure why he was telling her the truth. “I’ve lost people, and sometimes it _was_ my fault.”

“ Alliance or Federation?” she asked.

“ Ex-Marine,” he told her, close enough to the truth.

“ Where’s your partner?”

“ Over with your geologist friends. He’s fixing the water recycler, last I heard.” Snake watched Amara fidget with her gloves, pulling at the fingers and then yanking them back on.

“ And what are you doing?” Amara glanced around at the collapsed buildings. “Everything in this area is residential.”  

“ No one had time to give me a tour.” Snake shrugged, tucking his e-cig back his pocket.

“ What are you looking for exactly? I can probably at least point you in the right direction.” She peered at him, and though her eyes were still red rimmed, her curiosity seemed to be getting the better of her sorrow, at least for the time being.

Snake thought about lying, but finding the UFP base was going to be harder on his own and he couldn’t afford to waste time, not if the Alliance came back to finish the job. 

“ There was a Federation base here. Can you tell me where to find it?”

Amara nodded. “Yeah, I’ll take you there. We haven’t been in that area yet. They were storing weapons and the geologists were worried that the blasts may have destabilized some of them.”

“ Dangerous, especially if they were storing nukes. You should stay here,” Snake ordered. He thrust his chin in the direction of her caved-in home. “Finish what you came here to do.”

“ If they were storing nukes and they destabilize, being a kilometer away isn’t going to save me.” She pointedly didn’t look back at her ruined home.

A bone deep exhaustion was starting to set in, something more than just physical. He finally nodded. She stood and began to pick her way over a collapsed fence, stepping around crushed patio furniture.  

He followed her as they made their way over shattered concrete and various debris, furniture, vehicles, evidence of the colony that once lived here. He began to notice something odd by the second block, and by the third he set aside tact and asked.

“ Where are the bodies?” Snake asked as he climbed over a precarious pile of pebbly concrete from where the side of a building had shattered under blaster fire. Amara stumbled before she could answer and Snake caught her arm, tugging her up to the top of the pile beside him. 

“ We haven’t found many,” she replied. “The ones we did, we’ve buried, but we think most of them were trapped inside when it happened, since they attacked at night.”

“ That what you were doing earlier? Trying to find the bodies?”

Amara turned away, tight lipped as she slid down the other side of the rubble. 

It wasn’t much longer to the UFP base. Snake saw it long before Amara pointed it out. A massive hangar bay that looked more like swiss cheese than corrugated metal, surrounded by what must have been smaller buildings before the attack. The area had been utterly levelled, and they hadn’t just used blaster fire — the bombs they used had contained real explosives. Soot and ash had settled over the debris, and the exposed guts of the buildings were black. Someone had made sure these places burned. 

It was there that Snake found his first body. He smelled it before he saw it. Burnt flesh. He remembered that stench. He’d pulled Big Boss out of his Metal Gear. It had crashed after Snake took out the thrusters. He’d watched it spiral down onto the surface of Charon. He meant to kill him, so why did he feel like he was going to vomit? He yanked his helmet off even before he landed, his hands shaky on the controls. The metal was hot under his hands, even with his EVA suit on. He climbed the fallen MG, hatch already halfway open. Smoke poured from the cockpit as he opened it the rest of the way, Big Boss’s prone form draped over the ladder, rungs digging into his flesh. Christ that smell. His flesh, it melded with his EVA suit in places. Snake could see his hands, the skin sloughing off, or the parts that hadn’t fused with his gloves. Plastic and bubbling skin, the heat was unbearable, the smell— 

“ —lisskin! Hey, Plisskin!”   

Amara pointed her flashlight at the charred corpse, only just visible in the doorway of the nearest building. It no longer had a recognizable sex and most of its clothing had burned away. Snake frowned, as he got closer the other scents became clearer: butane, and another sharp chemical smell.

“ Did you or any of the researchers see anything the night of the attack?” Snake asked, scanning the ground around the corpse for any clue to its identity.

Amara shook her head. “We heard the explosions, we saw flashes, but we never even saw the ships. Either they were too low to the ground, or they were firing at us from orbit.”

“ I would have thought the second one, but look at this,” Snake pointed to the interior wall behind the body and Amara stepped forwards to look. “Those scorch marks were made by a blaster, and this body was burned intentionally.”

“ Why would someone do that? Why not just blast us from orbit?” Amara backed away from the corpse, nose wrinkling in disgust.

“ I don’t know,” Snake lied. He could think of several reasons, each of them increasingly disturbing. “What was the relationship between the UFP and the rest of the colonists?”

“ Fine. We mostly left each other alone.” She shrugged. “They scared off raiders a couple of times. EAM wouldn’t have done that for us.”

Snake nodded, looking back at the corpse. Something wasn’t right. Why go through the trouble of deploying ground troops to wipe out survivors, but leave the survey team alive? There was no way they had just missed them.

“ Weapons were most likely stored in that building.” Amara pointed her light at the hangar bay. The rest was set up to be residential.” 

“ How do you know?” It was hard to tell one building from the next in some places, and several had collapsed against one another.

“ My dad is—” she paused, closing her eyes, “was, a builder. He oversaw the construction of pretty much every building on the colony. The UFP hired him.”

“ You worked with him?” Snake asked. Amara had already started walking towards the hangar bay. Snake followed close behind. He’d never really spoken to a civilian living under the UFP before. Sometimes it was easy to forget that they tried to serve a legitimate purpose.

“ He started making concrete from the moon’s surface. Before that, most of the buildings were fibreglass or metal that had to be shipped in, which was getting crazy expensive. I wanted to improve on the formula, try and mix in other materials to make it more durable, which is why I was studying with the geologists.” Amara’s face was pinched, her eyes focused on the building ahead. She never glanced back at Snake as she spoke.

Snake spotted several more of the burnt corpses around the hangar bay. The massive doors were sealed shut, but the lock on one of the side entrances had been damaged by the attack. Inside wasn’t much better. Pointing his flashlight inside, he was able to illuminate most of the hangar. There were no bodies, but the walls were full of holes from what looked like torpedoes, the edges too ragged to have been made by blaster fire.

When he spotted the Metal Gear models lined up against the back wall, Snake felt a pang of nostalgia that he quickly quashed. Four of them, TX-55 models, the first model of MG he ever piloted. He pushed away the memory of exhilaration, the power he’d felt when he’d taken it out on his first training exercise. He tried to forget the swell of pride he’d felt when he’d climbed out of the cockpit and Big Boss had clapped him on the shoulder. “Good work,” he’d said. Gray Fox had invited him out behind the barracks that night. They’d shared the last of Fox’s contraband, real whisky, not the synthesized crap they were allowed off hours. 

Two of the units had toppled over, legs twisted and bent. They’d taken several hits to their lower halves. Despite bulkier builds, they were far less durable than more recent models and without being powered up, they hadn’t had their shields. The TX-55 models had been designed for warfare against other MG units and infantry with limited flight capabilities normally only used for space jumps into the active combat zone. 

Oddly enough, it didn’t look like the aim of the attack had been to destroy the units, though they wouldn’t have posed much threat without pilots, and thinking back to the corpses outside, Snake doubted the EAM left any alive. The model to the far left had a mangled arm that was certainly blaster fire, but otherwise, it looked untouched. The center right model had only slight scorch marks, or at least it looked like it, until he got closer and realized the entire back of the unit had been removed and the power unit was nowhere to be seen among the tangle of wires and pistons. Other than the Metal Gears, there were two passenger shuttles that looked to have been the real targets of the attack on the hangar bay. Snake would have hardly recognized them as shuttles at all if the front bumper of the closest unit hadn’t skittered across the floor during one of the several explosions, serial number scorched, but intact.

Snake frowned. Destroying the shuttles was redundant without pilots, unless they’d known about the surviving colonists. He needed to talk to Otacon. Something was very wrong here; he just wasn’t seeing it yet.

Amara found the weapons locker and Snake’s paranoia insisted they take what they could carry. Snake grabbed three pistols and two rifles and convinced Amara to carry a pistol of her own, as well as slinging a sniper rifle over her back. She handled the pistol gingerly, like it might go off in her hand. Snake made sure the safety was on before helping her tuck it in her belt.

There wasn’t much reason to stick around after that. Snake was curious as to whether or not the last standing TX-55 would function, missing arm or no, but his curiosity was outweighed by his need to talk to his partner. What he’d seen at the base disturbed him and he hoped Otacon could help him make sense of it.

It seemed to take them longer to walk back, almost two hours until they saw the lights of base camp. Though they walked slow, Amara was fading, exhaustion plain on her dust streaked face. It was getting late, though without the streetlights working to differentiate night and day, it was hard to tell. Amara was dead on her feet when they arrived. One of the geologists, an older man with white hair and wrinkled brown skin, greeted them as they entered camp. He ignored Snake in favour of wrapping his arms around Amara. He pulled back, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders. 

“ Where have you been?” Despite the harshness of his demand, his face was softened by concern.

She shook her head and he did not press her for details, instead, pulling her into another tight embrace. He would not have seen her shoulders shake if she had not been so close beside him. Despite no family resemblance, the researcher pressed his lips to her hair, fingers buried tight in the back of her jacket.  

“ Snake! Are you alright?” Otacon was jogging towards him, waving his arm. His face only just poked out above the neck of his parka, his nose and cheeks flushed pink in the cold.

“ I’m fine. Is something wrong?” Snake put a hand on Otacon’s shoulder, leaning down so he could meet eyes hidden by his hood.

“ No no, everything’s fine.” Otacon shook his head. “Just you were gone so long, i was getting worried.”

“ How long was I actually gone?” Snake asked, taking a rifle off his back. He held it out to Otacon, who took it just as gingerly as Amara had taken the pistol.

“ Six hours,” Otacon replied. “What’s this for?”

Snake shrugged. “I found them, and some other stuff we should probably talk about in private.” Snake glanced meaningfully at the geologists now congregating around Amara. Snake looked away when he saw she was crying again. It wasn’t for him to witness, and he thought the geologists should offer her the same courtesy, though he wouldn’t say anything. It wasn’t his place.

“ What am I supposed to do with a blaster rifle?” Otacon demanded, holding the weapon out like it was a particularly foul smelling animal.

Snake tapped the barrel. “Point this at the bad guys.” He tapped the trigger. “Pull this.” He flicked the safety on and off. “Make sure this is flipped first.”

Otacon still looked dubious. “What about one of those?” he asked, pointing to one of the pistols in Snake’s belt.

“ You’re going to have better luck actually hitting something with the rifle, trust me.” Snake patted Otacon’s shoulder.      

“ Will I have to?” he demanded, frowning.

Snake shrugged again. “Show me where we’re sleeping.”

The geologists had been staying in small trailers with heated canopies set up outside for studying larger samples. Snake and Otacon elected to stay in one of these instead of cramming themselves in with the survivors. They needed the privacy. What he’d seen with Amara had shaken him to the core and he found himself relieved to be alone with Otacon. He tried to fill Otacon in as best he could with what he’d seen today, but Otacon seemed just as baffled as he was. He’d spent the day helping the researchers repair equipment and they hadn’t clarified the situation either. They slept on roll-out mats with insulated sleeping bags, but even they couldn’t completely keep out the chill. Snake and Otacon pressed their mats close together, their knees touching as they curled up facing one another.

Otacon was a mess. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since they’d found out about the planned attack, and even now he rolled back and forth, tossing and turning with restless energy despite the deep circles under his bloodshot eyes. Snake felt the foolish urge to reach across and pat his shoulder, to smooth his hair, something. But coming from him, Otacon would probably just cringe, shy away from his hand.

“ What’s on your mind?” Snake asked, when Otacon’s knees once again crashed into his, a moment of contact that Snake found comforting rather than annoying. Otacon pursed his lips, and then finally let out a shaky laugh.

“ I — I’m scared Snake,” he admitted, pulling his sleeping bag tighter around himself. “Signals in and out of Pharos were being intentionally blocked. They have a satellite relay system that should have let me get a message through, even if it was a day or two after I sent it. They never got anything. Communications didn’t come back up until after the bombing.”

“ Small colony satellites often go down or have bad reception, especially during certain periods of rotation,” Snake replied. “What makes you say it was intentional this time, other than the obvious attack?”

“ For one thing, like you already pointed out, the timing. They didn’t go down until after I found that message. I checked the times with some of the geologists. For them to go back up again only after the colony was bombed… besides, from what I gathered, they only go offline for a day or two at most. A whole week with nothing is suspicious as hell.” Otacon’s frown was deep and he stared at the space between them. “This whole thing stinks. We’re missing something but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“ Fuck,” Snake swore, sitting bolt upright, his sleeping bag falling down to his hips. He should have seen it before, and if he hadn’t been so wrapped up in his own head, he would have. He’d been out of the game too long — gotten too comfortable, if he hadn’t seen this. “We have to get these people off planet as soon as possible.”

“ Well yeah, that was the plan.” Otacon propped himself up on an elbow and reached for his glasses. “What’s the rush?”

“ Would anyone be able to predict your patterns, where you were getting information, what data you would be collecting?” Snake could feel dread settling in his stomach, a cold hard knot pulling tighter the longer he let himself think, really think about this.

“ I don’t think so—” Otacon sat up, wrapping his arms around himself as his own sleeping bag fell off his shoulders. “I mean it’s technically possible, but they’d have to be intimately familiar with my patterns, my thought process, and they’d have to know what kind of things I was looking for.”

“ You were never supposed to see those orders, it doesn't make any damn sense for them to be left somewhere so unsecured.” The knot in his stomach seemed to grow teeth and gnaw at the lining, the muscles in his abdomen tensing.

Otacon’s eyes widened. “You think someone planted it for me to find?”

“ Yeah,” Snake replied, jaw tense. “I do.”

Otacon shook his head. “It would be too risky. If someone else were to find those files instead of me—”

“ Which is why I asked if someone could predict where you would be looking.” Snake wished he couldn’t see the moment Otacon’s face shifted, the very second that let Snake know he was right.

“ Yeah, it’s — it’s possible.” When Snake met Otacon’s eyes, he saw something desperate there, a plea for forgiveness.

“ Who?” Snake broke away first, tearing his eyes away from Otacon’s to his own white knuckled fists.

“ I don’t—” Otacon swallowed, “I don’t know.”

“ For all we know, it might not have been Earth Alliance that attacked.” Snake began to pull on his clothes, layers of thermal gear to protect him before he unzipped the canopy.

“ You think—”

“ I think this sounds like a trap for you, and if that’s the case we can’t rule anything out.” Snake finished pulling on his shoes and exiting the tent.

“ How many can we fit in our shuttle?” he called back at Otacon.

“ Ten at most. We’d have to do multiple trips!” Otacon shouted back from inside the tent. Snake felt nervous tension building in his chest, but perhaps they still had time...

It all started to add up. The bodies, no survivors left except the few that they wanted to be found. The destroyed equipment, no escape from the planet. The shuttle Otacon hired wouldn’t be back for days, and even if they had rented a shuttle, they never would have been able to afford one big enough for all the survivors, if they’d even known they’d need one. Someone wanted them here, someone who knew Otacon well enough to know he wouldn’t be able to leave these people to their fate.

“ Snake!” Otacon called, following him out of the tent, his shoes untied. “Snake, wait!” Otacon cried again, jogging to catch up with him.

“ What?” Snake spun around to face him, Otacon pale, tablet in hand.

“ Snake, the satellites are down again.”  

Snake’s stomach dropped. “I need you to wake everyone and tell them to hide. Grab the weapons from our tent, leave the lights on, but get everyone back to the colony and tell them to keep quiet.”

“ What about our transport? We can still get some of these people off this rock?” Otacon chewed his lip. They both knew that would mean leaving more than three quarters of the survivors behind. Snake shook his head. 

“ A last resort,” he said, glancing in the direction he and Amara had walked, “I hope.”

“ What are you going to do?” Otacon grabbed Snake’s arm, bloodshot eyes staring up at him with equal measures of trust and fear.

“ I need to get back to the UFP base.”

Otacon nodded and pointed towards one of the far trailers. “One of the researchers has a bike. It won’t be fast but it’s better than walking.”

Snake hoped he was wrong, prayed he was wrong. He put his palm over the hand on his arm. “Be careful.”

“ Y-you too,” Otacon replied, hand shaking as he pulled away.

Snake didn’t look back as he sprinted where Otacon directed. Behind him, he could hear Otacon banging on doors and instructing frantic researchers, his voice admirably calm. Only Snake would be able to tell how terrified Otacon was right now. Pride and fear swelled in him as he raced for the bike, Otacon’s voice getting further and further away.    

The bike in question was an older model with honest to god thrusters to keep it off the ground. Technically not street legal anymore, but would do just fine for a colony without magnetic roads for the newer type hover vehicles. It was small, but he could probably get it to push 90kmh if he really strained the engine. He couldn’t go much faster than that anyways, considering the obstacles he had to avoid.

90kmh was well over pushing it, considering the arrangement of some of the debris. Snake made several sharp turns that, had he been on wheels, would have certainly ended in, at the very least, some nasty road rash. Not that he could have navigated the terrain this quickly on a ground vehicle.

Glancing up at the sky, he cursed. A black shape blotted out the stars slightly west of the camp. Snake hated being right. That it was outside the atmosphere didn’t matter if it had air-to-ground weapons. Snake would bet money it was the same ship that had attacked the colony before, waiting just out of sight for Snake to be stupid enough to show. If that was the case, they’d deploy ground troops soon, and Snake was running out of time.

That whoever this was wanted Snake, Otacon, or both of them alive was clear. If that wasn’t the case, they would have just bombed them from space and have been done with it. EAM or UFP, Snake couldn’t let that happen. He shifted gears again and opened the throttle as wide as it would go. He’d make it, he had to.

The hangar bay drew closer and Snake almost dropped the bike in his haste to clamber off. The thrusters barely had time to shut off before Snake knocked down the kickstand and ran headlong into the building. He yanked his flashlight out of his pocket, pointing it straight at his goal, the one armed Metal Gear unit.


	12. Act One: Part Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake gets in the robot and has some feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like your boys extra crispy because Snake sure doesn't and someone needs to appreciate the effort I put in. (This joke is in poor taste and if anyone is actually upset by burns or burn wounds well first off I'm sorry about last chapter and second, this chapter is worse)

Snake clambered up the ladder, flashlight clenched between his teeth. The hatch wouldn’t open at first and he nearly fell twenty feet, yanking it until finally it came unstuck. The interior didn’t look damaged, but as he began to disengage safety locks, he wondered if this gamble had been worthwhile; if the Metal Gear didn’t activate, he’d left Otacon and the researchers unprotected for nothing. He shouted, hands tearing away from the console to grip his head. White noise screamed in his ears.

“ _ Snake, Snake can you hear me?” _ came Otacon’s voice in his head, the white noise mercifully dying down to a reasonable hum.

“ _ I read you, what’s going on?” _ Snake demanded, resisting the urge to snap, his head still throbbed from the unexpected activation of his nanomachines. He managed to turn on the main monitor, which lit with a blue glow that filled the entire cockpit. Good. That meant the MG still had some juice left. He could only hope it was enough to start the damn thing.

“ _ UFP troops have landed in a large military transport shuttle. There’s at least thirty of them, but there may be more inside.” _ Otacon’s voice was steady, but there was something slightly off about his tone, just a hair too high.

“ _ UFP? Shouldn’t they be friendly? Are you alright? How close are you?” _ The rest of the interior equipment activated and Snake’s insides felt too light as he strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. He reached behind the two handles controlling the arms towards the main panel, feet balanced on the leg pegs. He could feel the battery warming up in his entire body, a familiar hum. When he tapped the main panel, he grinned, feeling the rest of the machine coming to life. Luck, pure fucking luck, finally.

“ _ They fired on the camp as soon as they arrived, didn’t even wait to see if anyone was there. Snake, I think I can get these people out of here.” _ Otacon’s voice was definitely too high. Nervous and trying not to show it, he would wager.

“ _ Whatever you’re thinking, I have it covered. I’m on my way to you.” _ Snake expected the line to go dead after that, for Otacon to sever the connection between them in order to prevent the signal from being tracked.

“ _ No,” _ said Otacon instead. “ _ No, even if you do get that MG unit back here, there’s no guarantee you can fight off all of them, especially if their main ship is armed for space to atmosphere combat.” _

“ _ Otacon. Stay hidden,” _ Snake replied. Otacon’s voice had him on edge. He was up to something and it was likely to get him killed if Snake couldn’t stop it.

Snake only took a moment to remember the TX-55 controls and then he was tearing through the walls of the hangar bay. He towered over most of the surrounding buildings still standing, but he couldn’t see what was happening back at the camp.  

“ _ I’ve got one of the geologists with the sniper rifle covering me and I’ve got a weapon of my own as well. Hopefully I won’t have to use it.” _ Otacon did sound scared just then. Snake clenched his teeth, his stomach turning.

_ “Otacon!” _ he shouted, as if his voice alone could deter him from whatever idiotic plan he had concocted.

“ _ I need you to distract the ground troops. Try and draw them away from the shuttle. Did you get the MG activated?” _ Otacon’s voice had steadied. He sounded like he did on any other mission now. Snake could almost see the crease in his brow he got when he was focused on his screen, relaying data and exit strategies back to Snake over the codec.

“ _ Otacon, wait! I can take them out. Just stay put and we can get the shuttle together.” _ His heart pounded in his throat. Would any of the weapons on this thing even work? If not, he was still a hell of a distraction at forty feet tall and thousands of pounds of steel.

“ _ No time,” _ said Otacon. “ _ They’re closing in on the location of the survivors, and if they try and move, they risk getting picked up by sensors. We’re trying to fool the readings with thermal blankets, but I don’t know how long that’s going to last.” _

Snake tried to get the cumbersome machine to move faster, but its legs were slow and unwieldy and going too much faster risked him losing his balance and not being able to get back up — a major flaw in the more heavily armoured units such as this one. He could use thrusters to hover, but that would be a waste of fuel and he didn’t know how long he’d need to fight. He couldn’t feel this sick, not now. Otacon hadn’t been in the line of fire, not since their first escape, and he’d planned to keep it that way. Now his idiot partner wanted to get himself shot for a group of people he’d known for less than a day. Otacon couldn’t do this without his help, he wouldn’t survive it.

_ “Alright, I can see the camp,” _ he said. It had only just appeared from behind the ruined buildings, a smouldering wreck in the distance. The soldiers had done a number on it, and he was sure the researchers were weeping for their lost data. He twisted a knob on the left arm control and was relieved when the corresponding icon on his dashboard lit up. Under his left thumb, on the end of the left handle, was a button. He let his thumb just touch it, bringing up the targeting interface on the monitor in front of him. He saw a group of soldiers in range, weapons drawn and aimed at the remaining trailers. He pressed and held the button, which fired four consecutive shots before Snake had to let go to let it recharge, the shoulder mounted turrets making the cockpit vibrate. The battery indicator was already at sixty percent and it would drain even faster the more he used the weapons.

The targets he missed scattered, diving behind debris. As he drew closer to the camp, the shuttle and the surrounding troops came into view. They pointed up at him. The closer ones fired their blasters. Those in arms reach, he simply bent down to swipe out of his way, and hopefully out of the way of his partner, wherever he was. If Otacon wanted a distraction, he was certainly providing one.

He scanned the camp, looking for any sign of his partner. Finally he spotted him. Otacon had crept his way around the entire camp and was slowly making his way back towards the center, ducking behind tents and trailers to avoid being spotted. He was clumsy and not nearly as stealthy as he thought he was being if Snake could spot him on the monitor. He grit his teeth and fired another volley at the troops closest to the shuttle, drawing their attention away from the back of the camp and back to all forty feet of hulking, outdated metal.

It seemed to work. Soldiers dove behind trailers and fired blaster weapons made useless by the TX-55’s armor. This was what it was built for, one pilot against an unsuspecting squadron, the men forced to retreat or die. Snake had been that lone pilot before, had seen the looks of horror on the faces of the men he killed on his viewscreen in vivid detail, the despair when they were ordered to stand their ground against an unstoppable force. That was back when attacks like that still had the element of surprise. Back before enough men were massacred that hand-held weapons were built to combat them, so new Metal Gears and new tactics were developed, and so it went.

A deafening explosion, the entire unit shook and Snake’s head slammed back against the headrest. He barely got a chance to regain his balance before he was hit again. He scanned the ground, looking for the source. Cocky, too cocky. He should have been looking. At first glance, nothing, just soldiers with useless weapons. No, there, behind the second trailer, a rocket launcher loaded with explosive ammo resting on a black clad shoulder.

He grinned, well… he bared his teeth, firing through the corner of the trailer. His weapons burned holes through the aluminum, the smoke making it impossible to see if he’d hit his target.

He took a second to glance back at the shuttle. He didn’t see Otacon, but the side door was now shut.

_ “Otacon, are you ready to take off?”  _ he asked, bringing his attention back to the trailer and the clearing smoke.

_ “All set, I’m going to take off,”  _ Otacon replied, his nerves back in his shaking voice.

_ “Not yet. I’m going to make some noise. When they’re distracted, move.”  _ The last thing he wanted was for Otacon to try and take off and be peppered with blaster fire before he could get off the ground. The shuttles were extremely vulnerable when taking off cold because the power required to warm the engines and achieve liftoff was drained from the shields. They were designed for deploying troops into combat zones, or for emergency pickup, not for a quick getaway.

Snake flipped the thumb toggle for the blaster open, another button underneath, this time for something a little more devastating. Unfortunately nothing explosive; he only had heat rockets, and they were nothing like the old-school earth military ones. Not as noisy as he’d like, but it would certainly be a distraction.

He fired the first one in the direction of the trailer the rocket wielding soldier had hidden behind, just on the off chance he hadn’t actually managed to kill him. Even if he had, this would render his weapon useless, detonating the explosive ammo. Its impact was fairly quiet, a slow whistle and then a thud as it hit the ground beside the trailer. Soldiers had to glance, glance again, register, and if they were far enough away, they had time to run for cover. When it detonated, Snake was able to watch those who were still trapped in the open cook alive inside the blast zone. Flesh sizzled and melted to uniforms. He muted his speakers so he wouldn’t hear the screams. It didn’t matter, though, because he could see them, mouths open in horror as blisters formed on their lips and tongues.

Otacon was taking off and Snake hoped he wasn’t watching. He could smell the cooked meat in the cockpit, could feel the throb on his hand from a burn long healed. He remembered his mentor’s weight in his arms as he dragged him out of his Metal Gear, skin sloughing off as he pulled him, his bare hands touching slick wet burns.

Snake breathed in and closed his eyes, coward that he was, unable to look at the destruction he had wrought. ‘A better weapon’ they said, ‘severe damage to organic life, but leaves the buildings intact’. So when they invaded, they could destroy the resistance and settle in themselves, no rebuilding except for the survivors who had to rebuild their lives on top of the greasy ashes of their brethren under the thumb of those who built a ‘more efficient weapon’.

_ “Otacon, are you in the air?”  _ he asked, keeping his tone even, though his voice felt thin. Not enough air in his lungs. In, two, three, hold. Out, two, three, hold.

_ “I’m behind you. I’m going to pick up the survivors and drop them off Polyphemus. Its orbit is close enough for another few hours and they can bribe a cargo ship from there. I’ll come back for you—” _

_ “No,”  _ Snake ordered, his hand gripping the controls tighter than he should. “ _ No, you stay with them. I’ll take our shuttle and come find you, or I’ll fly this thing if I have to.” _

_ “Snake, I’m not just going to leave you by yourself!”  _ He was shouting in Snake’s head and it was making him ache behind his eyes.

_ “If you come back here, they will shoot you down. I can look after myself. Are you loading yet?” _

Snake forced himself to open his eyes. Those who had been able to find cover were leaning around corners to continue their fruitless barrage of blaster fire. A few were pointing in the direction Otacon had flown and that, Snake would not tolerate. Snake maneuvered himself between them and his partner, Otacon's distant position still vulnerable as he dropped shields to load his passengers.

“ _ Nearly there, I just need another few minutes,”  _ replied Otacon, his breathing was ragged like he’d been running.

“ _ I can give you five. After that, some might manage to find my blind spots and sneak around.”  _ Snake used the exterior cameras to do a 180 scan before firing warning shots at the soldiers behind the trailer who were attempting to advance.

He heard it coming even before Otacon shouted, “ _ Snake look out! Above you!”  _ He could feel the vibrations as shots peppered the ground to his left. He barely had time to leap out of the way, stumbling backwards as he landed on the crumbled wall of someone’s home.

He zoomed in as far as he could with his veiwsceen and in the blackened sky he could see the blurry outline of a massive, steely gray ship. The angles didn’t look modern, a stolen retired military model maybe, main gunports open and ready to fire again. A blast from one of those guns would tear through his Metal Gear like it was wet paper. Once Otacon got his shields at full power, he could take two, maybe three hits before he started taking damage, at best being forced to land, and at worst…

Snake growled, no longer firing warning shots. If he had to (and it looked like he had to), he’d obliterate the ground troops to keep them off his partner while he engaged the cruiser. Snake wished he knew which one of them the UFP was after. If it was Otacon, they would let him live if he surrendered. Snake could free him again when it was safe. If it wasn’t, though… it wasn’t worth the risk, and he wouldn’t just hand his partner back to those fuckers, not after what they made him do the first time they had him.

_ “Otacon, you need to leave  _ now!” Snake shouted, heart pounding in his throat.

_ “Ready for take off, powering shields, I’ll see you—shit!”  _ The blast caused debris to tinkle against the back of his legs. He switched to back cameras to check the damage. Otacon’s shuttle was righting itself, maybe fifteen feet off the ground. One of the shots must have knocked the vessel sideways. The ground under him had blackened craters where the others had missed.

Snake resisted the urge to call out to his partner. Otacon was too easily distracted and too easily agitated. Snake kept his voice calm when he asked, “ _ Status update?” _

It took a few seconds for Otacon to respond and Snake had to ignore his imagination as he fired on the remaining ground troops trying to take shots at the rapidly rising shuttle.

_ “Everyone’s on edge, but we’re all ok. Just a few bumps and bruises.” _

“ _ Get the hell out of here. Just concentrate on flying. I’ll cover you.” _

Easier said than done when blaster fire rained down from the sky, cracking the ground ahead of him and narrowly missing Otacon behind him. Otacon was high enough now that he was out of range of the soldiers on the ground. Ignoring them, he switched on his thrusters and propelled himself skyward, weaving from left to right as he sped towards the cruiser.

Risky as it was, his tactic was working. Though technologically outmatched, his reputation did have advantages, and the ship began to concentrate fire on the Metal Gear, trying to keep him from reaching them. It got harder to dodge blaster fire the closer he got and his limbs were starting to look worse for wear. His left leg looked like swiss cheese, the shin barely holding on by a cable. Didn’t matter, though. He just had to get close enough.

When he flipped the trigger back up, the shoulder mounted turrets flipped as well, turning back into the metal armor, revealing the rocket launchers hidden underneath. He came under heavier fire as their monitors would tell them exactly what he’d done and exactly what kind of weapons he was equipped with. His smile had no humor behind it, his chassis was falling apart around him. Warning notifications screeched at him from his screens as he was rocked violently by each direct hit.

He fired. One launcher was already damaged and would not receive computer input, but the other launched just fine, the weapon detonating as it came into contact with their shields. Grim satisfaction settled in Snake’s chest as he watched red sparks fly, creating a widening hole in the shields. Large enough that when he maneuvered closer, he could jam his remaining good arm through it, ripping away at the base of the exposed turret.

It must have looked like an ant trying to defeat a giant, but he knew where to hit them. His rockets would do nothing to the actual ship’s hull, but his blasters would. He flipped the trigger back down, his right shoulder jamming, but his left rotating and allowing him to fire directly into the mechanism under the turret that his sabotage had exposed. If he remembered this kind of ship correctly, that would start a chain reaction all the way down to the ship’s interior, and at the very least, they’d have a fire or several to contend with — one of the many flaws that put this particular model out of style very quickly.

Now that he was right on top of their ship, they were having trouble aiming at him, and those that could risked hitting the ship if they missed. The hole he’d created stopped growing and the shields were already starting to close in around the ship again. He’d have a few minutes before they sent out their own Metal Gears to take him out. Until then, he’d just have to keep them busy.

_ “Otacon, do you read me? What’s your status?” _

_ “Well underway. We have stealth capabilities, so I’ve got those activated, but it’s weird. We were able to see them coming. Why didn’t they use them? I’m keeping track of the energy levels and on the engine in case there is something wrong with it, but hopefully I can keep it on long enough to get us out of scanner range.” _

While Otacon talked, Snake fired another two heat rockets at the shields. He only had three left, and while he’d certainly caused the crew some brief panic, he hadn't even dented this thing. The battery on his screen blinked red — ten percent. How long had he been fighting? No, he remembered now. These batteries never lasted long in a firefight like this, and they were never made for extended periods out of atmosphere.

He took out two more turrets before the computer stopped letting him fire. “ _ Battery alert,”  _ it told him in a soft woman’s voice, pre recorded, charming. “ _ Please find a safe place to land.” _

“Yeah, fuck you too,” he grumbled.

He sprinted out of cover behind his most recent conquest, a shattered turret whose parts were floating off into the black, further and further away from the ship. When he reached the edge of the ship, instead of using the base rockets to control his descent, he took a nosedive, using them to propel him faster towards the surface of the moon.

He weaved to make himself a more difficult target, but some shots still managed to hit home, one of them taking out a rear rocket. He spun wildly until he managed to shut the right side twin off, the ground rushing to meet him faster than was safe.

He managed to right himself and used his broken legs, crumpling under the force of the impact, to cushion his fall. The Metal Gear toppled and Snake’s head whipped to the side, cracking against the headrest. Sharp pain twinged in his neck and it hurt to tilt in any direction. He hissed. Nothing a little heat compress and a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix, but he had to survive this first.

The ship would have seen him crash, and if they wanted him dead, they’d probably already be aiming. He couldn’t see anymore since the monitors went dead when he hit the ground. He had to work fast. Getting out of a toppled MG was harder than it sounded, especially when the ladder rungs were positioned under him. He kept his body upright in a low crouch as he stepped over them, aching neck brushing against the rapidly heating metal of the top of the  tunnel. The chassis vibrated and rocked. They’d clearly found their target.

The hatch automatically unlocked when the power went out, but it was jammed against debris and Snake still had to kick it open, gripping the ladder for balance as he leaned back and shoved with straining legs.

Outside was dark, which was an advantage if there were ground troops nearby, but against the cruiser’s heat sensors, it would be no help. He ran. Blaster fire erupted behind him, but didn’t seem to be getting any closer. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw steep rocky slopes coming up on his left and directly in front of him. The starlight outlined their black silhouettes. Snake had no idea where he was.

“ _ Otacon, do you have my signal? Can you direct me back to our shuttle?” _

At first there was no reply. Just static. Snake refused to panic, refused to let his mind focus on all the possible scenarios that would prevent Otacon from replying.

“ _ Just stay where you are.” _

He felt the low hum of the engine under his skin before he saw the dark shape, its black matte surface almost invisible in the starlight. He held back a dozen curses, dropping the hand hovering over the blaster at his hip.

His hand was immediately back on his weapon as the ground shook behind him. He spun around to face the dozen or so ground troops jogging towards him. The air whined and the rock cracked, pebbles rattling against his legs as they blasted the ground around him. He wished they’d make up their goddamn mind as to whether or not they wanted him dead — if they did want him dead, they needed better weapons training.

“Get in!” shouted an unfamiliar voice from the shuttle. He spun on his heel and sprinted the final meters to the shuttle, Otacon taking off before he was even entirely inside.

The passenger sliding the door shut was thrown backwards when he was blasted in the arm before Otacon could raise the shields again. Snake shut the door the rest of the way, initiating the sealing process before kneeling beside him. The wounded man was conscious, but in excruciating pain.

“You,” he growled at the woman kneeling across from him. Her hair was spilling out of its bun and the white lab coat wrapped around her shoulders was streaked with grey dirt. She looked at him with wide, bloodshot eyes. Snake pointed at the medkit on the far wall. Her eyes followed, and she fetched it without a word.

“Is anyone here actually a doctor?” Snake asked, opening the kit to find the safety scissors. Silence until Amara knelt beside him.

“I’m not professionally trained, but I know how to use one of those,” she said, pointing to the dermal regenerator.

“Alright.” Snake nodded. “I’ll drug him and clean up the wound. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Even with his nanomachines releasing pain suppressants into his system, Snake remembered blaster burns still hurt like a bitch, and this man had taken a direct hit without any relief. Snake found the field autoinjector and loaded it with a measured dose of morphine.

“If he looks like he’s having trouble breathing, let me know,” Snake instructed, cutting away at the sleeve around the wound. He soaked off any fibers stuck to the skin with antibacterial gel before wiping that clean and leaving Amara to finish the job. He downed a couple of over-the-counter painkillers for his neck, and when he was sure she really did know what she was doing, he left the crowded cabin. It was jammed wall to wall with frightened survivors, with some effort he picked his way around those sitting on the floor. The cockpit was noticeably cooler, bodies not turning the room into a sauna, despite the straining equipment.

“Why aren’t they following us?” asked Otacon. He didn’t turn to look at Snake when he entered. Their eyes met on the reflection of one of the monitors.

Snake gently slid the door shut behind him before easing himself into the copilot’s chair. “I think they want one or both of us alive… maybe. Or they’re just terrible shots.”

“That doesn’t explain—”

“They probably  _ are _ following us. The UPF does have cloaking technology.”

“Not UPF, though. They’re EAM.”

Snake frowned. “Then they’ve definitely got cloaking technology.”

Otacon shook his head, knuckles white on the controls. “You’re not listening, Snake.”

“Ok, so they were Alliance dressed up as nasty UFP terrorists to make it look like even those allied with the UFP can’t trust them. It makes sense, makes even more sense now why they let the settlers live too.”

“How can you be so candid about this?” Otacon shouted. When Snake turned to look at him, Otacon looked down at the screen showing engine status. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just… this is really, really fucked up, Snake.”

“Yeah,” replied Snake after a long pause, “it is.”

Snake pulled on a headset and messed around with the scanners for a while, just to keep his hands occupied, trying to see if maybe he could pick up any signs of their pursuers. It was a long shot, so he wasn’t disappointed when he didn’t find anything. He didn't have to see it to know they were being followed.

“How did you know?” he finally asked when the silence became too much.

“That they weren’t UFP?” Otacon replied, shoulders still tight, eyes still straight ahead.

“Yeah.”

“I got close enough to hear them. Someone was complaining about weapons downgrades, but besides that, their uniforms were too clean. I spent months around elite UFP soldiers and even their uniforms were worn and graying, mismatched blacks. Plus they talked like EAM soldiers. The UFP prides itself on being nothing like the Alliance or their military. From what I can tell, there’s a little overlap in the heat of battle, but casual familiarity is encouraged and their interactions are much less hierarchical.”  

“You got all this from being a prisoner for a few months?” Snake raised his eyebrow.

Otacon shrugged. “I-I never really was any good at interacting with people, so I observe, try and figure out what makes them work from a distance.”

When he finally turned to give Snake a self-conscious half smile and another shrug, it was like Snake had been sucker punched.

“Well there’s good news in all this,” he said, turning away from Otacon so he wouldn’t stare.

Otacon scoffed. “That’s not very funny, Snake.”

“No,” Snake insisted, “I mean it. Look at it this way. The EAM wants these people alive because they need someone to spread their story. Them trying to catch us, or at least one of us, was just going to be the cherry on top. If they want to sow dissent among UFP controlled worlds, they are going to need witnesses.”

“Their testimony will keep them safe, even if it’s all bullshit,” Otacon concluded, nodding. “Too bad for us, though. Their word could have helped  _ our _ cause.”

“If they start talking, telling everyone the truth about the EAM, we can’t protect them. They’ll be arrested and killed for sure just to shut them up.”

“You’re right.” Otacon nodded soberly. “I’ll tell them to keep their story straight. I wasn’t the only one who figured it out.”

“Who else?”

“That girl you were talking to. I can’t remember her name. About fifteen? Bandana?”

“Seventeen,” Snake corrected. “She’s seventeen.” Amara had probably spent the most time around the UFP out of the remaining survivors, working with her father. It was starting to make more sense why they’d chosen to let a group of geologists live other than just out of convenience. The UFP had no use for them when the EAM was still technically funding colonization efforts and planetary research. They wouldn’t have wanted to screw with that funding by getting them involved. It was pure luck Amara had been with them.

They lapsed into silence again and Snake tried not to think about anything but their next move. They’d have to drop off the survivors, but that would be fine now that they knew about the EAM. They’d be safe for the time being, and they could make their way towards Earth controlled space. He and Otacon were another story. They’d need somewhere to sleep for the night. They could lose pursuers in the crowd and book a motel room, message Miller maybe, tell him their predicament. They’d left everything at the camp, including Snake’s credit chip.

Getting a replacement for that would be easy. Otacon had set him up with a false account under a pseudonym. He could go in and request a replacement at any Earth controlled bank and they’d print him one on the spot. Otacon’s equipment would be harder, but Miller could probably help them with that. He had better connections than either of them, and on top of that, they should probably contact him anyways. If the Alliance had come after them this directly, they should probably find out when the Alliance had questioned him and what he’d told them.

It would be a pain in the ass. They’d have to hop a few shuttles, switch around their itinerary last minute, maybe end up on the ass end of the solar system, but they’d be able to shake off their pursuers. They’d done it on Mars and they could do it again. This was a setback, but they’d recover. Everything would be status-quo, or at least as status-quo as they got.

He looked across at Otacon, who was focused on the map he’d pulled up, typing something into the guidance system. They were getting close to Polyphemus, but Snake was restless, and with nothing left to do but wait, his mind wandered as he watched the monitors.

“So what did you figure out about me?” he asked, startling Otacon, who jumped hard enough that his glasses slipped down his nose and he had to push them back up with the tip of his index finger.

“What do you mean?” he asked, turning back to his work on the map.

“You said you watch people, try and see what they’re like from a distance?” He wished he hadn't said anything. It was impulsive, and it was a stupid question. He turned back to the screen in front of him helpfully indicating they were at 30% fuel capacity.

“Oh! Um…” Otacon paused his work and spun his chair around to face Snake. He pulled his glasses off, using his thumb and forefinger to clean the spotless glass. He shrugged as he put them back on. “More than I thought I would and less than I’d like, I guess?”

“That’s not very specific.”

“You’re not exactly an open book,” Otacon retorted. “Besides, I don’t even watch you from a distance and you’re still a mystery”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” Otacon interrupted, but his tone was something like fond and there was that nervous smile again. “But that’s ok. I think you’ll let me know you when you’re ready.”

“You want to?” It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did. Otacon was nothing like him, and maybe that’s why Snake seemed such a mystery when his superior officers had been able to look straight through him. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Yeah, I would.”

No, not such a bad thing at all, said the tugging in his chest that was like sinking and floating all at once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone was worried about Amara she lives, she will always live, she will never die, oh god someone stop her she just ate all of time to achieve immortality. 
> 
> This fic is probably going to be on hiatus until the new year because I have about 100 christmas presents to make and also I'm participating in the mgs xmas supply drop and I want to be able to fill as many prompts as possible. I'll see what I can do though :)


	13. Act One: Part Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Snake is emotionally stunted and Otacon has Issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I've been looking forward to posting this one for some time but I want to give a heads up that there is some content in here that some may consider potentially upsetting and/or triggering, it's super mild and mostly implied stuff but I'd rather be safe than sorry for anyone that might be upset. If anyone is worried I've put the warnings down in the notes at the bottom if you want to check.

Snake and Otacon parted ways with the colonists, leaving them with the shuttle on Polyphemus. They caught a ride on a cargo ship to a rest stop orbiting Galatea. It was mainly used by freighters, which suited them just fine. Easy to get off the station if they had to.

The station was set up not unlike a massive parking lot inside an oxygen field. This allowed freighters to come and go without the need for complicated docking procedures. Their motel room was tiny and the balcony overlooked rows upon rows of freighter ships, many looking worse for wear, sporting everything from dents and rusty patches to blackened burns from blaster fire.  

Otacon, for once, didn’t comment on the fact that there was only one bed, which left Snake with a lump in his throat and no sofa to retreat to. He dumped their bags on the floor and was about to sit down on the edge of the bed when Otacon slumped down face first into the mattress. Otacon groaned loudly and rolled onto his back.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,” Otacon moaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

It came to mind that they hadn’t slept in over twenty four hours, and Snake may not have been feeling it much, but Otacon certainly must. The physical exertion alone must have been killing him. Snake eased himself down onto the edge of the bed, and without much to say other than general agreement, Snake said the first thing that came to mind. “You were incredible today.”

Otacon laughed and looked up at Snake with a sleepy smile. “No.” He shook his head, “I was just too scared to actually think about what I was doing.”

Snake frowned at Otacon’s dismissal. “You’re a good pilot, and what you did was beyond risky, but you saved almost a dozen lives.”

Otacon’s smile turned crooked. “You’re a better pilot. If you hadn’t been there, there wouldn’t have been anyone left to save.”

“You could have died,” Snake insisted, and was then struck silent by his own words. It made his stomach drop in a way that was wholly unfamiliar. He was a soldier. He was prepared for death in whatever form, be it his own or the death of a comrade. But Otacon… he wasn’t supposed to be in the line of fire like that. He shouldn’t die a soldier’s death.

He’d protected Otacon before, back when he’d rescued him from the Alliance station. He never expected this to feel any different, but maybe back then, he was just repaying a debt. He should have considered this possibility, but how could he have? Now… now, he was...

“Snake, what’s wrong?” Otacon asked, sitting up so he could perch beside Snake at the end of the bed.

_ Fucked. _ Now he was totally and completely fucked.

“I need a smoke,” is what he said instead of lying. At least one of the ecigs in his jacket pocket still had some juice in it, but as he stood to leave Otacon sat up and caught his arm.

“You don’t need to go outside to smoke that. It’s just vapour,” Otacon frowned.

“I need some air,” Snake insisted, shrugging of Otacon’s hand, ignoring the way the crease between his brows deepened.

“I wouldn’t have died, you know.”

Snake stiffened and there was no way to disguise the way his back went ramrod straight at that comment.

“You don’t know that.” He popped the plastic cigarette in his mouth.

“I do,” Otacon insisted, “because you were there.”

Snake couldn’t turn around. His teeth gripped the cigarette so tightly, the plastic casing seemed ready to crack in his mouth.

“What’s going on? Talk to me, Snake.” A hand on his shoulder. Snake heard him approach, otherwise he may have broken it, his first instinct always violence.

“I don’t want you to die,” he admitted, pulling nicotine into his lungs and letting out a cloud of cherry flavored vapour.

Otacon squeezed his shoulder and laughed, patting him on the back. “Yeah, me neither.”

Even once Otacon released his shoulder, Snake still couldn’t move, the door a little over a meter away and yet the final steps seemed impossible, like Otacon was a magnet holding him in place.

“Otacon, I—” he started, tucking the cigarette back in his pocket.

“Yeah?” Otacon replied.

“You’re the only friend I’ve got,” he said instead of the words caught in his throat. He needed time to think, time to examine the tightness in his chest and the churning in his gut.

Otacon pressed his lips together and looked away, his mouth curled upwards in a tight smile. “You’re my only friend, too.”

Snake shifted and Otacon’s smile quickly faded. A heavy silence fell between them until Snake broke it by opening the door. He saw Otacon look up just before he closed the door behind him.

The night air was cool, but it felt heavy. There was no breeze, nothing to break the stillness. He heard footsteps in their room, but they faded away from the door. Otacon wasn’t going to follow him. He felt both relief and a strange pang of disappointment. He took his e-cig out again, half chewing on the barrel and half smoking it. He watched the tarmac below, freighters, almost twenty five meters long with painted murals — unique to each pilot — painted on their sides, came and went, moving around each other with practiced ease.   

 

                                       

 

Otacon was nothing like Frank, but this feeling was all too familiar. Otacon had no taste for blood, yet they fought side by side all the same. Today they had been in perfect sync as Snake destroyed their enemies, and what did that say about him that it made his stomach feel like it was floating? Trust wasn’t the word. He’d trusted Otacon for a long time.

He bit down so hard on his cigarette that the barrel splintered in his mouth. He spat out shards of plastic onto the balcony and tucked the broken cylinder back into his pocket, cursing his poor self control in all things. How long had he been ignoring this?

He had no excuse left to be outside, but no desire to go back in that room and look his friend in the eye. He couldn’t yet, not while he was seeing Frank’s bloody grin, his teeth stained red and pink. He swallowed hard, but thinking about Otacon instead was almost worse. He ran a hand through his hair, and then again, his fingers tugging harshly at tangles. He’d made a mistake. He’d let his guard down for too long, and like everyone else Snake had ever let himself get close to, Otacon would pay the final price. Frank’s pink teeth flashed in his mind as a deadly reminder.

His hands balled into tight fists and his blood pounded in his ears. His partner would not suffer the same fate, not at Snake’s hands. He knew, if the time came, where he had to make that choice — between his mission or his friend, he’d never be able to make the same choice again. What had changed? Whether it was the mission, the company, or perhaps himself, Snake couldn’t rightly say.

No matter how he felt, he had to go back into the motel room and get some sleep. They couldn’t stay here long. They had to get at least another planet away, if not further. There was no way word hadn’t gotten back to the Alliance that he and Otacon had been on Proteus, and if Alliance Intelligence wasn’t already closing in on them, they would be soon.

He stood in front of their door when he realized he’d forgotten his keycard in the rush to leave. His knuckles hovered over the door before he dropped his hand. The longer he stood outside, it seemed the harder it was to go back in. Shame burned hot and his heart pounded in his throat.

Snake shook his head and sighed, raising his hand again with the intention of actually knocking this time. He didn’t have to. The door swung inwards, and Otacon started when he saw Snake. Otacon’s shoulders were hunched up to his ears and he crossed his arms, looking mildly embarrassed.

“I… I came to look for you.”  

“I wasn’t gone that long,” Snake replied.

“I know.” Otacon shrugged and looked at the carpet.

Snake frowned. “Were you worried?”

Otacon finally stepped to the side to let him back into the room. “No,” he insisted, then, “Yes, maybe, I don’t know.”

Snake sat down on the edge of the bed, tossing his broken cigarette in the bin beside it. Otacon closed the door, and instead of joining him on the bed, he stood in front of him, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Everything alright?” Snake asked, leaning forwards, hands clasped loosely between his knees. He kept his eyes trained firmly on the floor.

“I wanted to ask you that,” Otacon replied, “after you went out.”

“If I was alright, you mean?” Snake glanced up at his partner.  

Otacon nodded, shifting again, his glasses slipping dangerously close to the tip of his nose.

“I’m—” fine, he was about to say, but Otacon already knew that wasn’t true. Now he knew where the shame had come from, and the tightness in his throat, the dryness in his mouth. “I was scared, today.”

“Me too,” said Otacon, “but I knew you’d cover us. I knew you’d come through.”

Snake shook his head. “I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” Otacon insisted. “You saved my life, and the lives of everyone left on Proteus.”

Snake shook his head again, feeling ill as the events of the day replayed themselves in his mind.

“You don’t get it. I didn’t know if I’d make it in time.”

“You were scared because you thought you’d fail?” Otacon asked, pushing his glasses back up before they fell. He stared at Snake and his expression shifted slightly, surprised, like he never would have considered the possibility.

Finally, he was starting to understand.

“Yeah.” Snake swallowed, his throat dry. He looked back down at the floor.

“You’re good. You have to know you’re good at what you do,” said Otacon, finally sitting down beside him on the bed. “I know a thing or two about self doubt, but I’ve seen you in action. You should have more faith in yourself.” Otacon paused to look down at his hands. He seemed to gather himself quickly, though, because he looked back over at Snake and there was a nervous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Because I have a lot of faith in you.”

There was a strange feeling, something like the way his insides rose when he made a space jump. Snake reached over and put a hand on Otacon’s shoulder. It was a sudden self destructive urge that made Snake lean in and kiss him.

At first Otacon didn’t move, and shame curled into a tight knot in Snake’s belly. He was starting to pull away when Otacon kissed him back, hard. The frame of his glasses pressed into Snake’s cheek. He ignored it and and wrapped an arm around Otacon’s middle, pulling him in closer; he could feel Otacon’s heart beating hummingbird quick against his chest. Otacon let out a small gasp, and Snake took it as a sign of encouragement, pulling Otacon down on top of him as he lay back on the bed.

Otacon let out a squawk as he was dragged down, sprawling with his arms out on either side of Snake’s head. Snake guided him with his hands until Otacon had a thigh on either side of Snake’s hips, running his palms up Otacon’s sides and onto his shoulders. He pulled him down for another kiss and felt Otacon eagerly respond.

When Otacon broke the kiss, it was only to bury his face in Snake’s neck; Snake felt lips first, and then teeth. He gasped when Otacon bit down, gentler than Snake normally preferred, but they could work on that.

Snake froze.  _ They could work on that?  _ What the hell was he thinking? This was… this was fucking insane. He had to keep his head. He couldn’t let this go any further, let himself get carried away just because he had a fucking epiphany. This had gone too far already. They had to work together. This was his partner, someone he needed to trust to not only have his back, but maintain objectivity with regards to the mission. Adding sex to the mix…

Otacon was looking down at him, a small frown creasing his brow, his lips pressed tight together. “Is this okay?” Otacon asked, his voice shaking ever so slightly. Snake could see hope and a healthy dose of fear in his partner’s eyes, and it twisted his gut with guilt. It was too late to turn back now, not without hurting Otacon more than he already would be, and he was selfish.

Instead of answering, Snake reached up and grabbed Otacon’s collar, crushing their mouths together. Not exactly a selfless act, he thought, as he felt blood rush to his groin.

He never would have considered Otacon handsome, not until that moment when he looked up and saw him, glasses crooked and red cheeked, teeth nervously worrying his lower lip as he ran a hand over Snake’s shoulder and chest, but he would have called him everything else; naive, reckless, idealistic, so goddamn brave.

He ran a hand through Otacon’s hair, letting it rest at the nape of his neck, fingers massaging as he pulled Otacon closer, forehead pressing into Otacon’s collar. His other hand, he let wander over Otacon’s hip and then up his side, under his shirt.

He hadn’t touched anyone like this, not in a long time. Otacon’s arms shook with the effort of keeping his full weight off of him and Snake grinned, rolling them over so they lay side by side. They were alive, against numbers, against odds — they were alive. If that wasn’t worth celebrating with a mouth on his, someone he trusted with arms around him, then he couldn’t think of what was.

He moved his hand from the back of Otacon’s neck to cup the side of his face, thumb tracing the line of his cheek, his jaw, his lips. Snake reached over to pluck Otacon’s glasses, now smudged from Snake’s nose and forehead, off of his face and to place them on the floor beside the bed. Then he leaned in to kiss him again.

He jerked with surprise when he felt Otacon’s hands slip under his shirt, sliding it up his body. He let go of Otacon to tug it off the rest of the way. Otacon’s jaw dropped, his hands hovering over Snake’s torso almost reverently.

“Like what you see?” Snake asked, grinning when Otacon yanked his hands back, flustered.

“I, I…”

Snake kissed him again, saving him from the explanation or excuse Otacon was struggling to come up with. Besides, it was flattering. It felt good to be wanted for something other than his proficiency at killing.

“Your turn,” he mumbled into Otacon’s mouth. Otacon made a small, questioning, noise, then a louder protesting one as Snake reached down to tug at the hem of Otacon’s shirt.

“Something wrong?” Snake frowned, pulling back so he could see Otacon’s face.

“Of course not,” Otacon insisted, looking down at Snake’s navel and biting his lip. Snake reached between them to lay a hand on Otacon’s jaw, to tilt it back up so he could look him in the eye.

“Hey,” said Snake, frowning at Otacon’s nervous gestures. Otacon was too old to be this shy. “Is everything…”

He trailed off as Otacon’s teeth released his lip and he gazed at Snake from under half-closed lids. His nervousness seemed to evaporate and he wet his lips with his tongue. Snake caught him when he lunged forwards to press hard, toothy, kisses to the corner of Snake’s mouth, and then the middle when he tilted just right.

“Shit—” Snake swore when Otacon moved back to his neck and this time bit him harder.

“Good or bad?”

 

                                    

 

Otacon’s voice vibrated at his throat and he barely got out, “Good,” before Otacon was at it again, teeth hard on his shoulder. He moved even lower, leaving dark marks on the skin around one of Snake’s nipples before finally dragging his tongue across it.

Snake groaned, gripping the blanket under him. It was both smooth and itchy: the synthetic material had a silky texture, but rough machine embroidered threads scratched at his palm. He didn’t want to grab the sheets, he wanted to grab Otacon, but every time he reached for him, Otacon’s shoulder was out from under his hand as he moved to another part of Snake’s body.  

Otacon moved like he knew what he was doing, first one nipple, then the other, replacing the abandoned one with his fingers. He moved back up to Snake’s neck and then his mouth. All the while his hand trailed down to Snake’s abdomen, across the edge of his belt, along his thigh. He moved like he knew what he was doing, but his touch was cautious, inexperienced.

Snake put an arm on his shoulder, to push him down on the bed so he could return the attention, but Otacon slipped out from under his arm, mouth traveling lower, pressing his lips to Snake’s collar, his solar plexus, his abdomen. He had his mouth on Snake’s hip when he grabbed Snake’s belt.

He fumbled until Snake took pity on him and helped undo the button and zipper of his jeans before pushing them down to his knees. Otacon tugged them off the rest of the way, socks coming with his pants so Snake lay completely naked while Otacon stood over him, still fully clothed.

“Move back?” asked Otacon, though Snake thought it might have been intended as an instruction, not a request. He obeyed so his head rested on the pillows covered by the ugly motel blanket.

Hot breath on his thighs. He closed his eyes as hands ran up and down his sides, nails scraping softly, catching on old scars. His eyes flew open and he called out when he felt Otacon’s tongue on him.

His technique was sloppy, but he certainly didn’t lack enthusiasm. Snake wished he would look up while he worked, but his eyes were firmly glued to Snake’s pelvis, hair covered his eyes and forehead. Snake propped himself up on an elbow so he could reach forward and push Otacon’s hair back, tucking one side behind his ear. Then Otacon did something that made his arms weak and he groaned, falling back onto the bed, but not before meeting Otacon’s eye. His partner, on his hands and knees between his thighs, looking him dead in the eye with something like fear and defiance.

“Fuck,” Snake moaned, gripping the blanket again because he couldn’t grip Otacon’s hair. Snake wanted reach out, to touch, but sitting up was an impossible task with that fucking mouth on him. He grit his teeth as pleasure built, trying not to do or say anything stupid. It was good. It was too good. He should have stopped this, he never should have kissed him. He could smell citrus cleanser on the headboard behind him, the stale recycled air of the room dried out his mouth as it snapped open and shut, trying to keep quiet, knowing full well how thin these walls were.

“Shit, I’m gonna—” he groaned again, but Otacon didn’t stop, he just let out a small hum of acknowledgment that went straight to Snake’s head. His partner wanted him, wanted this, he wanted to… “Oh fuck, fucking hell—” he groaned, covering his face with his palm. He threw his head back, his thighs shook and he gasped for air while his mouth formed a name he had once thought too intimate. “Hal!”

Once the last aftershocks had faded, Otacon extracted himself from between Snake’s thighs. He heard the sink running and the sound of Otacon brushing his teeth. When he returned, his face and the fringe around his hairline was damp.

Otacon stood beside the bed, holding one arm and looking at Snake’s abdomen. Snake hadn’t bothered to get dressed, still reeling from his orgasm and enjoying the endorphin high. Otacon shifted his weight, mouth pressed into a thin line, the corners of it digging into his cheeks.

Snake grew impatient and patted the bed beside him. “Are you going to stand there all night?”

“R-right!”

Otacon clambered onto the bed, upright on his knees until he got within arm’s reach and Snake was able to grab him around the middle and drag him down. Otacon let out an undignified yelp and Snake grinned, pulling Otacon closer so his head rested on Snake’s shoulder.

He leaned over to kiss him again because that was the polite thing to do after someone went down on you, even if Otacon had already brushed his teeth. He was relieved when Otacon kissed him back; he hadn’t realized he was nervous about that, about still being wanted, until something tight in his chest relaxed.

A warm body in his arms, in his bed. How long had it been since he’d held someone after sex? Although, he reminded himself, unless he was a complete asshole, it wasn’t over yet. He let his hand run down Otacon’s side, hands slipping under the waistband of Otacon’s jeans to grab his ass. Not that there was a hell of a lot there, skinny as his partner was, but the surprised gasp was just as gratifying. He moved closer to kiss Otacon’s neck, his jaw, sliding his hands around to Otacon’s front.

Otacon didn’t even notice until Snake had already popped the button and was working on Otacon’s fly.

“Oh! Um… are you…” Otacon stammered and Snake discovered he stopped talking when he moaned. He removed his hand from down Otacon’s briefs so he could shove everything down to his knees, allowing Snake a better angle. Otacon looked like he might talk again, so Snake kissed him before he could start babbling.

Otacon’s initial nervousness faded as he began to move on his own, wrapping an arm around Snake’s neck and hooking a leg over Snake’s thigh in order to draw him closer. Otacon’s hand ran up his neck and into his hair, fingers tangling then tightening as Snake began to move faster. He moaned into Snake’s mouth and it was almost enough to reawaken his own arousal, despite his recent orgasm.

When Otacon climaxed, there was very little warning: a quickening of his breath, a sharp gasp, and then warmth on Snake’s hand, his stomach, running onto the horrible blanket.

Snake kissed Otacon one more time before rolling over and reaching to the bedside table for the tissue box, passing a few to Otacon, who took them graciously, using his own handful to wipe himself and then clean off what he could from the bed. He doubted a mysterious stain was the worst the hotel cleaning staff had to deal with, but he did hope there wouldn’t be one.

He pried the soiled tissues from Otacon’s hand, tossing them in the garbage bin beside the bedside table. His partner was flushed red, lips parted, and eyes wide. He looked at Snake and then looked away, teeth clamped down on his lower lip. They lay on their backs, a foot apart, and Snake longed to reach between them and pull Otacon back in for an embrace, but the quiet gave him pause, made him think his touch may not be welcome.

“Pass me my glasses?” Otacon asked, finally breaking the silence.

Snake nodded, putting the tissue box back when he reached over to the bedside table. Otacon perched them on his nose, then took them off to wipe off greasy smears with his shirt.

“Kissing with glasses is a goddamn nightmare,” he joked. The tension seemed to ease somewhat with Otacon’s amused tone. Snake rolled onto his side so he could look at his partner and Otacon did the same, faces inches apart.

“If you put them back on, I guess that means you don’t want me to kiss you again.” It was half a joke and half a question and Snake actually dreaded the answer. He didn’t know a rejection from Otacon would hurt so much — not until an hour ago, no, not until now. Not until he’d kissed him. Now that he knew what he would lose out on, it would be better not knowing if Otacon was going to push him away.

“No, I’m just blind without them, and I wanted to see your face.” Oddly enough Otacon looked down after he said it. Even the tips of his ears were crimson, his fingers drumming on the mattress, and Snake now knew that was not just a nervous habit. I meant he was thinking.

“Was that okay?” Snake asked. “Are we? Okay, I mean.” He hoped the tiny spark of hope in his chest wouldn’t be obvious on his face. He didn’t even know he wanted this, not before he’d almost lost it, but everything rolled in his stomach like a dryer full of wet clothes. He could still the vibrations of the unfamiliar MG, the crunch as he was forced to kill another human, not with his weapons, but with the steel and weight of his metal frame. But to keep the stolen shuttle in the air, to keep the soldiers from his partner, he would have killed them all with his bare hands. He wondered how it was possible to keep something like this from himself until it was almost too late.

“It was unexpected, that’s for sure,” said Otacon, his tone light but his voice betrayed a tremor. Snake’s heart sunk. Had he misjudged Otacon’s reactions so badly?

“I’m sorry,” Snake replied carefully, reaching to place a comforting hand on Otacon’s shoulder before thinking better of it and pulling it in close to his chest.

“No! No, don’t be!” Otacon insisted, “I… I’m not—”

They could die tomorrow, in an hour… a goddamn battalion could burst through that door any minute, so Snake did the only thing that felt right; he tilted his head and kissed Otacon again, not caring if he smudged his glasses. Otacon hesitated long enough that Snake almost pulled back but then he draped an arm over Snake’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Snake grinned into Otacon’s mouth.

“Early morning tomorrow.” said Snake. “Want to try and get some sleep?”

Otacon laughed nervously. “Not really, but we should.”

Snake pressed his forehead to Otacon’s. He felt lighter somehow, even after their narrow miss, he felt… content. Perhaps it was the afterglow, but he couldn’t know for sure so for the first time in a long time he let himself enjoy the feeling.

He kissed Otacon one more time before rolling off the bed to pull back the covers. Otacon tugged his pants off the rest of the way but pulled his briefs back up before he tripped. He slid under the covers after Snake, the stiff linens practically crunching under them. Otacon’s cold feet brushed up against Snake’s leg. Snake reached around to tug Otacon to him so he could press his body flush against his partner’s back.

Snake reached behind him and flipped off the light before wrapping his arm around Otacon and pressing a kiss to the back of Otacon’s neck. Otacon let out a small contented hum and relaxed in his arms. It wasn’t much different than how they’d slept before in rooms with no heat and thin sheets, but this time Snake was naked and his heart was only just beginning to slow. It felt good, better than good, and he ignored the anxious stab in his side that came when he thought of tomorrow morning. But that was hours away, and for now, he let himself enjoy slow breaths, a warm body in his arms, and hair tickling his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Uncomfortable and badly negotiated sex, not /really/ even dub-con but I know that it probably would have upset me quite a bit a few years ago because Reasons so I'm putting it out there. 
> 
> Heads up this is /actually/ the last chapter I'm posting until sometimes January because of Christmas and Snot Week.


	14. Act One: Part Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude. The calm (sort of) before the (sort of) storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back folks, that supply drop Christmas exchange sure was a lot of work so I hope you all got a chance to read the other stuff I posted during this month long hiatus (please read my short fics I'm vain and proud of them). Snot week is coming up so it maaaay be another month until the next chapter but we shall see, I've run out of pre-written stuff like a fool so this will be an adventure. I promise I won't start anymore WIPs until this is finished though, so that should motivate me. Thanks for sticking around guys~

Snake woke the next morning when Otacon slipped out from under his arm and tiptoed to the bathroom. He blinked groggily and looked over at the clock — only 6:15 in the morning. They needed to leave in another hour or so. He rolled over onto his back and frowned when he heard the shower start. He stretched his hands over his head and then quickly lowered them, wrinkling his nose. He smelled like BO and sex and the sheets clung to his skin unpleasantly.

He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and glancing blearily around the room. He spotted his shirt to the left of the bed and his pants and underwear to the right. He didn’t remember taking his socks off, but he must have at some point because he wasn’t wearing any.

His body was unpleasantly sticky as he extracted himself from the sheets. He looked down at his naked body and then up at the bathroom door. The water was still running and he could hear the squeak of feet on the shower floor. He decided to pull on his jeans while he waited for Otacon to finish. He sat at the edge of the bed and tried not to think.

He didn’t succeed. Otacon’s face from the night before came, unbidden, into his mind, eager and cautious in equal measure. He couldn’t do this to himself, not now. He couldn’t think about what it had meant before he saw his partner again, before he knew where they stood. Despite assurances the night before, Snake was all too aware that things said immediately after sex didn’t necessarily mean much. Snake was sure that last night when Otacon said he didn’t regret anything, he’d meant it — but that was last night, and in the cold early morning when the lights outside hadn’t even begun to brighten to daylight, things changed.

Snake bit the inside of his cheek when he heard the shower turn off. He wished he had stayed in bed so he could pretend to be asleep, pretend he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes overthinking trying not to think.

When the bathroom door finally swung open, Snake’s head jerked up. Otacon was wearing his shirt and boxers from the night before, a towel wrapped around his shoulders, hair damp and dripping into the front of his shirt. He wiped his glasses with the hem of his shirt before putting them on and startling when he saw Snake sitting upright at the edge of the bed.

“ Sorry!” Otacon squawked. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”      

Snake shook his head. “We have to leave soon, anyways.”

Otacon nodded and found his pants on the floor right next to Snake’s shirt. Flushed pink from the heat of the shower, he didn’t meet Snake’s eye as he pulled them on.

“So—”

“I need a shower,” Snake announced, coward that he was. Otacon didn’t have a chance to protest because Snake was already across the room and closing the bathroom door behind him.

He swore under his breath once the latch clicked. The bathroom was still warm and the mirrors still fogged. He reached over the sink to wipe one down with his palm and regretted it. His hair was a goddamn mess and his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep, but what stood out most of all was the purple hickey where his neck and shoulder met, high enough that his teeshirt wasn’t guaranteed to hide it. He ran his fingers over it, slightly tender around the edges where Otacon had bit him. There’d be no pretending between them. There was no way Otacon had failed to notice it, nor could he have been blind to the purple marks on Snake’s chest.    

Snake started the shower. He didn’t have to wait for the water to warm up as the pipes were still hot. He just stepped into the hot spray and began to scrub himself down with the sliver of complementary soap Otacon had left him, its wrapper going soggy at the edge of the bathtub.

Snake had had casual sex before, which was how he knew last night was nothing like that, at least for him. How Otacon felt about it was anyone’s guess, since he hadn’t bothered to ask him before fleeing to the bathroom in cowardice. He was afraid of the answer, any answer.

He had initially intended to draw out his shower and give himself time to regroup, but delaying changed nothing and thinking was getting him nowhere. He had no way of knowing what lay in wait on the other side of the bathroom door, and worse was that he didn’t know what he wanted to find. Instead, he washed as quickly as possible and dried himself with a towel barely large enough to wrap around his waist. He had to hold it to keep it from coming undone when he left the bathroom, jeans over one arm, in search of clean underwear.

He didn’t, couldn’t, look at Otacon as he shuffled across the room to their bags, a white knuckled grip on the corners of his towel. He dressed as quickly, exposing himself as little as possible. He didn’t turn his head to glance behind him as he dropped his towel to pull on underwear. Snake didn’t know if he wanted Otacon to look. It wasn’t like he hadn’t changed in front of his partner dozens of times before, but it was different now.

Snake didn’t turn around until he was dressed and found Otacon sat on the far side of the bed with his back to him, legs dangling over the edge, shoulders hunched so he could stare at his knees. Snake wasn’t disappointed that Otacon hadn’t watched him; he wasn’t an exibitionest, but if Otacon had, it would have been a lot easier to know where he stood. He’d dressed while Snake showered, but his hair was still damp and the collar of his grey shirt had dark spots where his hair had dripped. The longer Snake stared at the back of Otacon’s head, the harder it became to think of what he should say.

“We should get going, I want to be off planet before the EAM start looking,” was what he came up with. Stupid. Not what he wanted. Otacon glanced over his shoulder and nodded. It was impossible not to notice how miserable he looked. The lines under his eyes were more pronounced. The dark circles looked like bruises. He looked hollow, drained. He didn’t even respond, just stood and pulled on his parka, zipping it up to his chin. He drowned in it, sleeves double cuffed so he could use his hands.      

Snake threw their bags over his shoulder, careful with the one that had Otacon’s equipment. He threw open the door and was glad for fresh air. He hadn’t realized how strong the stale scent of sex had been until he breathed in crisp morning air. Although morning was relative from planet to planet, the streetlights were beginning to brighten to simulate proper daylight.

After short negotiations with the front desk receptionist, Snake and Otacon found themselves on a shuttle bus, empty but for them and the driver, back to the closest spaceport. The bus was old and the magnetic mechanism that kept it hovering was in dire need of maintenance. The bus wobbled from side to side, especially when it was forced to turn or make a sudden stop.      

He and Otacon remained silent. Snake told himself it was because they didn't want the bus driver to overhear their conversation, but his gut knew better. Snake had sat down first and Otacon had chosen to sit in the row of seats across the aisle from Snake instead of waiting for Snake to move over so they could sit together.

Otacon stared out his own window and Snake watched Otacon with the intention of looking away if Otacon gave any sign of glancing his way. He never did, though, and something hot and tight squeezed Snake’s throat. Eventually, he stared down at his own hands, unable to pinpoint the source of his shame, but it burned all the same.

* * *

It got better. Sort of. That was to say, it didn’t impact their working relationship. They sabotaged two Alliance outposts that served as Metal Gear launch sites on the edge of Alliance territory, taking care to ensure that the sole nearby UFP base was suitably distracted with their own mechanical failures to make sure there would not be an unfair attack on the weakened enemy. If anything, their teamwork improved and they became more efficient, requiring less and less time between missions. And if they were so exhausted that there was little time to discuss personal matters, so be it.

They would both have to be completely oblivious to ignore the way they avoided each other’s gaze. Snake became hyper aware of the space between them when they slept, when he peered over Otacon’s shoulder at the tiny screen in his lap, when Otacon handed him a cup of coffee. Otacon’s body no longer seemed to welcome the casual touch he’d grown accustomed to sharing with his partner, and Snake began to wonder if Otacon had ever welcomed it at all, or if he had just projected his own lonely desires.

He couldn’t dwell too long on his own doubts, not when they had a job to do. Several jobs in fact. Tensions between the Earth Alliance and the Federation were mounting and despite Snake and Otacon’s best efforts, skirmishes increased in frequency. Their only consolation was that they had yet to see any footage of REX being used in any of these instances. If this was a blessing or a sign of future trouble, Snake couldn’t yet say, but it left him uneasy, especially since, despite the increased frequency of skirmishes, the scale of the incidents hadn’t changed. It made Snake think one or both sides were gearing up for something bigger, and Otacon agreed with him.

The motel they were staying at on Pallas had free continental breakfast and they were both determined to make the most of it. They weren’t broke, yet, but Otacon was burning through his inheritance on computer equipment and transport and there was no point in spending money where they didn’t have to. Both of them filled their plates and had plastic bags tucked in their pockets to scoop up on the road snacks for later.

Otacon chewed his toast and ham with little enthusiasm, eyes bloodshot from another late night of work, expression dull as he stared at the wall behind Snake. When they weren’t talking about the mission, there was little else to say anymore, it seemed. Besides, they were both too tired for small talk.

Snake watched the TV behind Otacon’s head, muted but subtitled. Military presences out in a Shantytown on Mars after a resident lobbed a bucket of human waste at a soldier a week ago. No one had reported the cause of the argument, but Snake could guess, and clearly so could the couple at the table beside them, judging by their conversation.

“Well, it’s no wonder,” said the pale woman with long red hair, her tone conspiratorial. “Martial law isn't so bad if you’re on the right side of it. Poor bastards.”  

“Jesus, Marie, you want to get us detained,” hissed the other woman, her thick dark hair pulled back into a bun. “We’re still on a fucking colony.”

“I’m just saying it costs more to keep those people out of the cities than it would to actually help them,” Marie retorted, her voice hushed but with none of the caution her partner advised.

“I’m not saying I disagree with you,” the dark haired woman pleaded, “but our passports still have us from Triton and the EAM is looking for two terrorists on the move. I don’t know about you, but a cavity search isn’t on my itinerary.”

“You’re being paranoid.” Marie leaned back in her chair, waving her hand.

“My brother got detained last week for talking about sending food to the rioters on Mars,” the other woman insisted, her voice raising for the first time in the conversation. She looked around nervously and Snake made sure his attentions were on his plate.

“Your brother is a loudmouth and literally said it in front of a soldier six blocks away from the entrance to the shantytown in question,” Marie shot back.

“My point still stands. If they’re willing to arrest people for being loudmouths…” The dark haired woman chewed her lip.

“Hey, we’ll be back on Triton soon,” soothed Marie, putting her hand over the other woman’s.

“At least they won’t arrest us for sedition,” the dark haired woman snorted.

“No, the Federation is more into shooting you and ejecting the body into the cold vacuum of space.”

Snake tuned out the rest of the conversation. The argument about the UFP was clearly a longstanding one between them. The women chuckled quietly to themselves and their conversation turned to other topics.

It wasn’t the first conversation like this Snake had overheard, especially in recent months. As the war escalated, both sides became more aggressive in their tactics for dealing with civilian interference. The EAM had gotten especially bold and the riots on Mars were not the first acts of civil disobedience they’d quashed. Otacon had found reports of arrests made back on Earth of several influential politicians who had spoken in favour of independence for the colonies and had criticized the lack of a de-militarized police force outside of Earth. Snake was not surprised when it was announced they had been arrested for selling information to the UFP, or for embezzling government funds, or for public indecency in one case.

Something else that set Snake on edge was their last series of missions. Snake had managed to destroy weapons, disrupt shipments, and dismember several Metal Gears, but none of them had been REX models. Neither he nor Otacon, despite their scouring (physical and digital), could find neither hide nor hair of one being built or having been recently moved. All the while, fighting moved closer and closer to colonies as troops from both sides advanced and retreated along multiple fronts. It brought back memories of the Pharos colony and there was no way Snake was letting that happen again if he could do anything about it.

Snake had to wonder where either side was getting the manpower to continue this fight. He saw the casualties listed on news networks, the body count high on both sides, but victory seemed to favour the EAM, at least as far as Snake could tell. But back home, recruitment was at an all time low, and Snake wondered if Earth’s President would risk his re-election by instituting a draft. Snake knew (and if he knew the EAM had to know too) that if they instituted a draft, that the colonies would be the first ‘recruited’. Anyone who could afford to live on Earth was either living off the grid with no mailing address, or was rich enough to buy their way out of mandatory service. No, it was the unemployed living in the shantytowns outside of Mars’s sprawling cities. It was the poor working under the table jobs for less than minimum wage. It was kids just out of school who couldn’t afford post-secondary. They were the ones who would suffer, and all it would do was push the colonists into the arms of the UFP. It would be one hell of a stupid move, but he hadn’t seen the EAM making any smart moves lately, so his fears were not abated.

Once upon a time, the EAM had been good to him, had given him a place and a purpose… no, looking back, it hadn’t been the EAM. It was Big Boss who had made him feel like he was a part of something bigger, something better than himself.

Otacon was nothing like a replacement for that. There was no comparison to draw for the way Otacon made him feel. It wasn’t just purpose he found. It wasn’t just feeling a part of something; it was _knowing_ that what he was doing with this man was the right thing. He’d never felt so sure of anything in his entire life, and that certainty gave him hope when Otacon no longer met his gaze as they made plans sitting across from each other at a motel table.

* * *

The cracked plastic walls of the shower stall were stained by poor cleaning and age. Snake tried to avoid touching anything that didn’t match the colour of the creamy yellow streak under the soap dish where suds had actually managed to clear away some of the grime. The motel soap was lavender scented. Snake wrinkled his nose with distaste, but continued to scrub away the sweat of the mission.

It would be wrong to call their mission a failure. They had completed the task they set out to do — gather intel and interrupt production on anti-MG rockets in the new factory on Ceres. But months of missions just like this one made him feel less like he was helping people and more like a small time arsonist. It was like trying to kill a man with papercuts. Snake sighed as he rinsed soap out of his hair and swore when some stung his eye. He wanted a shave, a good night’s rest, and a new fucking plan.

He finished rinsing and stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, about as clean as the shower had been. Snake wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the mirror with the heel of his palm, meeting his own bloodshot eyes. His wet hair plastered to the back of his neck. It was getting long, longer than he’d let it grow since he was a kid. Wet like this, the ends almost reached his shoulders, though it had not grown particularly evenly as the last time he’d had a haircut. It was by a military barber with a pair of clippers and a shaky hand. He doubted either his or Otacon’s hand would be much better, though, and professional haircuts weren’t in the budget.

Snake shaved slowly, the cheap disposable razor pulling at his skin. The mint plastic handle was flimsy in his hand, and exhaustion made him grip it just a bit too tight to make sure he wouldn’t drop the damn thing. He nearly did just that, though, when a knock on the door startled him.

“Hey Snake, when you’re done in there, I’ve got something for you to look at,” said Otacon though the door, his voice slightly muffled by the overhead fan.

“I’ll be right out,” Snake called, rinsing dried soap and prickly hairs off his face. He pulled his dirty jeans back on. His shirt and underwear were drying on the towel rack, the hair dryer was propped against the wall, pointing up at them in an attempt to get them to dry faster.

Cold air made goosebumps prickle Snake’s exposed skin when he opened the bathroom door. Otacon sat on the unmade bed, feet tucked under the sheets, back resting on the headboard. He tapped at the tablet in his lap, glancing up at Snake and then back down at his work, beckoning him closer.

“Look at this,” he said, pointing to the screen when Snake sat down beside him. “It’s been sent to your email, but l can’t make any sense of it.”

Snake sat down beside them on the bed. Their shoulder’s almost brushed as Snake leaned over for a closer look, but locking his elbow as he used his arm to balance kept him from tipping those perilous few inches too close. He smirked when he saw the screen, right before a pang of nostalgia tightened his throat and forced him to look over at Otacon so he wouldn’t remember anything he didn’t want to.

“It’s a code,” said Snake evenly.

“I figured that much out, and I could probably decipher it given a day or so, but if you recognize it—”

“I do,” Snake interrupted, tearing his gaze away from Otacon and back down to the screen. “It’s from Miller.”

“What does it say?” Otacon leaned back, handing Snake the tablet to allow him a better look.

“Gimmie a minute.” Snake waved his hand as he squinted at the small text.

It was from Miller alright, though the email address was definitely a dummy. It wasn’t a difficult code, though the email itself was so innocuous that he doubted anyone would even bother looking for it. It had a summary of Alliance activity on Luna sorted by time and date. Snake was embarrassed when he remembered it was the exact code he and Frank had used to send inappropriate messages via public terminals back when Snake was still in training.

“Miller’s been arrested, or kidnapped. It’s not clear which,” said Snake, scanning the email one more time. “Either way, someone’s found out he helped us. They’re probably trying to see if he knows where we are.”    

“So? What are we going to do?” asked Otacon, nervously looking at the screen.

“We?” asked Snake, frowning “Otacon, this isn’t Miller asking for help. This is a warning to stay the hell away. The whole thing is a set up.”

“ Then why is the ‘we’ the only thing you seemed to object to?” Otacon demanded, crossing his arms.

“ Because I’m still going,” Snake replied. “And you’re going to stay out of it.”

Otacon’s mouth dropped open, then his expression morphed into a scowl. “No way, you’re not going in there without backup.”

“I’ll be fine.” Snake shook his head. “I used to do extractions like this with no radio backup when I was with FOXHOUND.”

“How could they have been  _ anything  _ like this? At what point during your career in FOXHOUND did you piss off both sides of an interplanetary war and go in to extract a single man with no knowledge of who’s holding him?” Otacon argued, fingers tapping impatiently on his skinny bicep.

“You’re right,” said Snake, walking over to the window. He fumbled in his pocket for his e-cig, pulling weak drags from an almost empty cartridge. “But I—”

“Don’t screw around,” Otacon snapped. “If you want to be rid of me, just say it, but don’t pull this tough guy crap.”

Snake turned around, e-cig dangling from his lips. Otacon was red cheeked, lips pressed tight together as he stared down at his lap. For a moment neither of them spoke, Otacon’s eyes trained on his hands, fingers digging into his thighs.

“ Sorry,” said Otacon, eyes not moving from his lap.

Snake rolled his e-cig from one side of his mouth to the other, watching Otacon’s fingers tense.

“I’m not angry at you,” replied Snake, finally putting the e-cig from his mouth and tossing it in the garbage beside the bed. Otacon jerked as the plastic barrel smacked the side of the bin, a sharp crack in the otherwise silent room.

“But you don’t want me around.” Otacon looked up from behind his fringe. His hair was getting long, falling over his eyes.

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” Otacon met his eyes, his frown deep. His teeth were biting his lip so hard, it was turning white.

“I don’t want anyone tracing your signal,” Snake tried to explain, tried to get them back on topic. “It’s a stupid risk and you have no reason to risk your life for Master Miller.”

“In case you forgot, he saved my life too.” Otacon’s voice wasn’t as harsh anymore but he was just as insistent, “Remember Mars?”

“You wouldn’t have died,” Snake mumbled, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

“ Would you stop deflecting?” Otacon snapped, before looking back down at his lap, his shoulders sagging, “I don’t want to do this just for him. I mean, I would, but that’s beside the point.”

“What’s your point?” Snake drummed his fingers on his bicep, trying to read Otacon’s face through his curtain of hair.

Otacon ran his thumb and forefinger across his brow, pinching the bridge of his nose before running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t fair, Snake,” he sighed. “You know damn well what I mean.”

“I don’t think you need to be taking this risk,” Snake insisted, clenching his teeth. He was glad he’d thrown out his e-cig. He’d crunched too many between his molars already.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me.” Otacon rose to his feet, hands balled at his sides. “I want to do this, so unless you’re done with me, you have to let me help.”

Snake swallowed, his throat tight. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“I see,” said Otacon.

Snake couldn’t take back those words, just like he couldn’t take back that first kiss, the second kiss, any of it. He couldn’t _fix_ this. It was his own fault — it always was. He should have just said something, but it was three months too late and a thousand uncomfortable silences between them. If there were words for what Snake wanted to say, he sure as fuck couldn’t find them.

“This,” Snake said, gesturing broadly. “I don’t own it. It’s yours as much as mine.” Not even close, but maybe Otacon would understand.

“ The motel room?” asked Otacon, incredulous.

“No.” Snake scrubbed a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck. “I mean whatever it is we’re doing.”

“The thing we don’t talk about, or the terrorism?” asked Otacon. Snake wished he knew what that quiet tone meant.

“I suppose, both.” Snake nodded, dropping his hand back down to his side. “I don’t want you to leave. I never wanted that.”

Otacon’s expression shifted, softened. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that Miller is _my_ problem, not yours. I can’t let you risk being retaken by either side, not after what they’ve already done to you, to your work.”

Snake couldn’t look at him while he said it because all he saw was the terrified man he’d met almost a year ago, trapped behind bars by the people who were supposed to have rescued him. Snake would never be able to get him out of that again. Even if he gave himself up, the EAM would never let them within a hundred metres of each other. They were too powerful an asset. And if the UFP got him… Otacon wouldn’t talk about how they’d coerced him, but Snake could guess.

“ _ That, _ ”  said Otacon, “is my problem, and so are you.”

“So I’m a problem,” Snake asked, mouth twitching upwards.

“Yes!” said Otacon, but the irritation in his voice was cancelled out by the tired chuckle. “Yes, you are.”

Snake closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose. “You have to promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I’ll follow your lead on that,” Otacon retorted, sitting down on the bed. “Damn, for a moment there I really thought we were finished.” He flopped back, holding his head in his hands.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Snake watched Otacon’s chest rise and fall as his partner snorted.

“Maybe you should tell me sooner next time, so I don’t stress about it for months on end.” Otacon flung his arms over his eyes.

“Probably.”

“We still haven’t talked,” said Otacon, emboldened, it seemed.

“We haven’t.”

“Okay,” Otacon rubbed his eyes with the heels of hands. “Alright, I’ll take the hint.”

“After,” Snake made himself say. “After we rescue Miller from whatever trouble we’ve gotten him into.”

“Oh, okay. Um, thanks.” Otacon's throat sounded just as tight as Snake’s felt, which was comforting.

“Come on,” said Snake, extending a hand to his partner. “We’ve got a rescue mission to plan and no data to work with.”

Otacon uncovered his face and gave Snake a half smile before grabbing his hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the angst, except I'm not. I promise it's only downhill from here until it goes uphill again. It's like a roller coaster except with giant robots and guns.


	15. Act One: Part Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake and Otacon screw up a rescue mission, they screw it up really badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, special thanks to [Shell_and_Bone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/works) who is the best beta a girl could ask for, and a fabulous cheerleader to boot. Please please please check out her fic if you like sad space grandpas (Babylon 5), she's so #writing goals it hurts.

“ _So as far as I can tell, Miller should be somewhere in the northwest building,”_ Otacon buzzed in Snake’s head. “ _I saw them on the satellite when they moved him there an hour ago and he hasn’t left since.”_

“Great,” Snake grumbled from his rooftop perch on a neighbouring building. He used a pair of binoculars to watch the main and south entrances. There had been very little movement since he’d arrived, which was odd for a facility this size. He’d only seen half a dozen or so guards come in and out of the buildings. Either they had a skeleton crew or their patrols were mostly focused on the interior of the buildings.

After numerous attempts to contact Miller and receiving no reply, they’d assumed the worst. His home was empty (Otacon hacked his cameras — they’d catch hell for it later if Miller found out), but his car was still in the garage. They’d checked hospitals, both on Mars and on surrounding stations.

Otacon had spent days hunched over Snake’s tablet and the second one he’d ordered a month prior, hands darting from one to the other. Snake had felt useless, worse than useless, and while they’d agreed to talk eventually, the residual tension still made Snake nervous, less sure now of where they stood than he had been before.

Otacon had searched for records of all Alliance transports leaving Mars, narrowing it down one flight at a time until he found a few likely candidates. He located transports that were leaving Mars for EAM bases, looking for ones that had destinations that didn’t match their initial flight patterns. Once he had the launch times for those ships, it hadn’t been difficult to get camera footage from the military spaceport on Mars for the hours before takeoff.

It was almost mesmerizing to watch him work. Snake hadn’t realized he’d missed it, spending months feeling dirty for looking, for _watching_. Snake could do little more than point out potential military codewords in itineraries, but he was severely out of date and it hardly helped.    

After several sleepless nights and more cups of coffee than Snake thought a human should be able to drink in a row, Otacon found it: footage of a man with long blonde hair and a bag over his head being led onto a transport ship. Otacon was able to track its progress across the system until it came to land on this miserable rock, a newly minted EAM station orbiting Jupiter. Snake ‘borrowed’ a two-man EAM fighter jet with limited stealth capabilities and hoped to whatever god was listening that if they had to shoot their way out of there, Miller would be in well enough shape to man the gun.

He’d landed just out of sight of the base, inside a deep crater. Hopefully that, along with the stealth camouflage, would be enough to keep it hidden. Snake used a tiny radar jammer Otacon had made him, tucked in his breast pocket, to keep himself from tripping any perimeter alarms.      

Otacon couldn’t give him an exact location on Miller yet because the CCTV cameras were on a wired connection. Once inside, Snake could attach a transmitter to one of the cameras, giving Otacon access to the building’s feed. From there Otacon could direct him to Miller, and give him the best exit route. Unfortunately, until then, they only had their best guesses to guide them.

Getting into the northwest building turned out to be fairly easy. He only needed to shadow a guard, a tall man who’d been on patrol for a while, considering how complacent he’d gotten. He didn’t even check behind himself before opening the door. Dressed in a dark grey fatigues like the rest of the marines on the base, on camera Snake would look like he was accompanying a comrade.

Inside the base were long white halls, the walls made of thick plastic with steel reinforcements on the corners. The main corridor was wide enough for three men to walk comfortably side by side, but branching off were several smaller hallways only half as wide. There were cameras at regular intervals and while that would be useful for finding Miller, it was going to make getting out of there a hell of a job unless Otacon could figure out a way to shut them off remotely.

Once the door clicked shut behind them, Snake cast about for the nearest camera. Once they passed the one facing the entrance, he parted ways with his accidental accomplice, slipping down a narrow hallway heading north.

He kept his head down, his face tilted away from the cameras, until he found one out of sight of the main corridor. He only passed one person on his short journey, a harried looking man in mint scrubs, a blue surgical mask pulled down off his face to hang around his neck. He could only imagine what his purpose here was, and he hoped it had nothing to do with Miller. Snake waited until the quick footsteps faded before pulling out Otacon’s device.

It looked a little like a silver binder clip. All Snake had to do was snap it into place around the wires that fed into the back of the camera. Easier said than done with the camera close to the top of walls almost two and a half meters tall. Snake was lucky he was tall, and even then, it was hard to see exactly where he was clipping the damn thing.

“ _Otacon, do you read me?”_ he mouthed. The door another few meters down turned out to be a single stall bathroom and Snake holed himself up in there, sitting on the edge of the stainless steel toilet.

“ _Loud and clear, Snake.”_ Snake could hear Otacon tapping furiously on his keypad. He could see him in his mind’s eye, shoulders hunched as he peered at his screen, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“ _Have you got the cameras working yet?”_

“ _Almost. I know we don’t have much time, but I want to make sure no one can trace the signal back to our base.”_

Their base was actually little more than a microscopic room on a transport station off Io. It had exactly three square meters of space and most of that was taken up by the narrow bed. Otacon had bravely slept on the floor the night before, wedging himself in the narrow gap between the bed and the desk to allow Snake a proper night’s rest before he went off to get shot at. Well, hopefully not shot at. The goal, after all, was not to get caught.

“ _Alright, I found him,”_ said Otacon after an eternity of silence, the only noise in Snake’s head the rhythmic tapping of Otacon’s fingers.

“ _Close?”_ Snake stood, stretching his body as best he could in the cramped space. For such a large lab, they had certainly skimped on basic comforts.

“ _Kind of, but you’re going to have to go up a floor and then back down to avoid patrols.”_

Snake hesitated a moment before asking, “ _How does he look?”_

Otacon didn’t reply at first and Snake almost repeated his question when Otacon’s voice finally came in, “ _Not good, Snake. I can’t see much of him, but what I can see looks pretty banged up. They’ve got a bag over his head and it’s bloody. I hope he can walk on his own.”_

“ _Me too…”_

Snake slid open the bathroom door, peering out into the hallway. Empty. He followed Otacon’s instructions, finding the stairwell at the end of the hall and making his way to the second floor. He ended up in another narrow corridor almost identical to the one he’d just exited and if it weren’t for Otacon’s voice in his ear, he would have had no idea where to turn.

He used the seemingly empty second floor to cut across the building. He didn’t pass anyone like the doctor from before and it was starting to put him on edge. The situation was feeling more and more like an elaborate set up, but when he asked Otacon, his partner couldn’t find anything that looked like an ambush along any of the routes Snake could take to Miller’s cell.

As he found himself back on the first floor, drawing closer to the north east side of the building, he started to see more soldiers, relatively speaking. By the time Otacon guided him to the correct corridor, Snake had seen three men in the span of five minutes, a record amount since he’d arrived.

“ _Is this it?”_ he asked, standing outside slick metal double doors, a nine-digit keypad glowing red to the left.

“ _Yeah, this is it,”_ he replied. Snake could hear him tapping his screen a bit quicker. “ _I saw a guard punch in the password: 3651.”_

“ _Is he still in there?”_ Snake asked, fingers wrapped around his blaster’s grip.

“ _No, he left about five minutes ago. You should have passed him on your way here.”_

“ _Right.”_ Snake nodded, blaster now levelled at the door, his free hand hovering over the keypad.

“ _Be careful,”_ Otacon cautioned. “ _Just because I saw that one guy leave doesn’t mean Miller is alone in there. Someone could be hiding out of sight of the camera.”_

Snake smiled indulgently. “ _I’ll be careful.”_

The door slid open and immediately something felt wrong. There were no guards, no furniture, no blood, and most importantly, no Miller.

“ _Otacon—”_ he started, but didn’t get a chance to finish. He was raising his hands over his head as he heard the whine of at least half a dozen blasters charging up.

“ _Snake? Snake, where are you? What’s going on?”_  

Snake had known, he’d _known_ , that this was a trap. He’d known damn well and he’d gone anyways. He was only angry about how easy it had been to lure him in. All the breath seemed to leave his body as he dropped his weapon, hands raised. A sharp voiced ordered him onto the floor. He sunk to his knees, fingers lacing behind his head as hands groped him, disarming him and unbuckling the straps Otacon had so carefully helped him put on.

“You’d better come back,” Snake remembered Otacon saying, his tone light; Snake knew he wasn’t joking.

“I will.” A lie, it seemed.

His hands were yanked violently down to his lower back, magnetic cuffs attached around his wrists.

“ _Snake, do you read me?”_ Otacon’s voice was desperate, pleading. Snake didn’t know why he bothered asking. He could hear the other men just fine. He _should_ be able to see him on the camera. Unless… yes, it made sense. They had been clever, using old footage and playing it over the feeds. Whoever had done it must be a genius to fool Otacon. He wondered where Miller actually was — probably just another part of the building if Otacon hadn’t seen him leave via satellite footage. If the man they’d seen was even Miller at all. They’d kept a bag over his head; it just as well could have been a fake. He was such a fool.  

“ _Get out of there,”_ was all he could risk mouthing before a tall figure stepped in front of him. The first thing he saw was a pair of pointed toe brown boots with an elaborate embossed pattern, attached around the heels were an elaborate pair of silver spurs. Snake hadn't seen anything like them outside of classic American movies. He wore a long trenchcoat over a cream vest and crisp white shirt. His long silver hair was tied back but still fell well past his shoulders. He would have been considered handsome by some, despite his age. He looked to be in his mid-sixties with sharp grey eyes, his lips twisted into a cruel smile.

The man bent down just low enough he could get a proper look at Snake’s face. “You’re a hard man to find,” he said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Just who are you supposed to be?” Snake demanded.

The man grinned. “I’m here to take you home.”  

No response from Otacon. Snake hoped he’d taken his advice, cut their connection, and bolted. If he got out of this, he was entirely confident Otacon would find him again. It would just be a matter of time.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Snake glanced over his shoulder. Like he’d thought, six marines, armed to the teeth with blaster rifles pointed directly at him, set to stun no doubt.

“I have a code name, like yours,” he said, straightening his knees so he could stand at his full height. “My name is Revolver Ocelot.”  

The name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Snake narrowed his eyes. If only he could remember…

“Not to you,” said Ocelot, rubbing his chin, “but Dr. Emmerich and I are rather intimately acquainted. If he’s still listening, I’m sure he’d remember.”

Still nothing from Otacon. Good.

“You won’t find him,” said Snake. If Otacon was still listening, he’d better take that as the hint it was to get his ass out of there and stay out of sight ~~s~~.

Ocelot let out a quiet chuckle, his mouth curling upwards with a sort of sinister satisfaction. “I don’t have to.”

Snake had to resist the urge to lunge for him, for all the good it would do. He wanted to wipe that smug look off his fucking face. It anything happened to Otacon… _then it was you fault, wasn’t it?_ said a clear and cold voice inside him.

“Go fuck yourself,” he snarled. This guy was fucking with him, trying to get him to give up, to give some clue as to where Otacon was hiding. He wasn't going to play this game.

“You’re a fool if you think your partner will be able to run. We’ve already closed in on his location.”

He was just messing with his head. Otacon was smart. He would have had lots of warning, lots of time to flee.

“It took us a long time, but we needed to catch both of you at the same time to mitigate the risks of having one of you still on the loose.”

 _No._ Snake’s nostrils flared as he tried to keep his breaths slow and deep. Blood pounded in his ears. He wouldn’t let them have Otacon, not if he had anything to say about it. And he’d promised, he’d come back and they could talk. He’d be happy to have a thousand uncomfortable conversations about that night if it meant they’d make it out of this, as long as it kept Otacon out of their hands.

Someone was approaching from behind and Snake slammed the back of his head into their groin, sending them reeling backwards. A high whine and a searing bolt of pain shot up his right arm. He hissed through his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused. He was outnumbered, but they weren’t supposed to kill him. As long as they didn’t hit his torso or his head, he should be able to stay conscious.

A pair of hands tried to grab his arms and he spun on his knees, extending one leg to sweep their legs out from under them. Another high whine as a marine fired a shot, but this time he was ready. He felt the heat as it passed by him, his wounded arm screaming as he rolled out of the way.

He sprung to his feet, bull rushing the remaining marines. He was lucky he was so close. They’d have shot him in an instant otherwise. The long barrels of their rifles worked to their disadvantage as Snake kicked and elbowed his way through them — or at least he tried to. These weren’t UFP grunts; these were trained EAM marines, and once the element of surprise wore off, he was face down on the concrete floor with four rifles pointed at the back of his head. His arm burned white hot as the raw skin stretched, and he grit his teeth to keep silent.

Cool metal on the back of his neck, too small to be a rifle. With a hiss and a pop the jet injector fired and the sedative began to take effect. He couldn’t see who’d done it, but it didn’t really matter now. He guessed it wasn't Miller who the man in scrubs had been here for, after all. It had been Snake all along.

Otacon still hadn’t responded to him, and Snake, for the last vital seconds he was conscious, couldn’t fool himself into believing Otacon was safe.        

 

* * *

 

The white ceiling came in and out of focus as Snake opened his eyes. He was on his back, cuffs around his wrists, soft nylon but sturdy. The sheets were crisp, he smelled… he smelled clean, antiseptic.

He looked to his right. Whatever they’d given him — it felt a little like surgical anesthesia — was wearing off slower than he’d like. The figure beside him swam, but he recognized the crisp lines of that suit, the stiff posture.  

“Where is he?” Snake growled, or he’d meant to. It came out more like a croak.

Campbell shook his head. “Who?”

“Ota— Dr. Emmerich! Do you have him?” Snake’s mouth curled into a snarl though his throat couldn’t keep up with the strain. Belatedly, he thought perhaps he shouldn’t be showing his hand like this, and perhaps he should be asking about Master Miller.  

“No.”

“Good.” Snake closed his eyes.

“Not really,” said Campbell, his voice low with something like... regret?

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Snake demanded, his voice hoarse now. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt like it was coated in glue.  

“We had him in our sights,” Campbell admitted. Snake’s vision was still hazy, but he could tell Campbell wasn’t looking at him but rather straight down at his lap. Snake wondered why those words didn’t feel like a victory when the other shoe dropped. “The UFP got there first.”

Snake’s head swam and the room spun as he tried to throw himself out of bed. The rails on the hospital bed shook and strained as he tugged at his bonds. The burn on his arm shot white hot agony across his skin as he pulled at freshly regenerated flesh. They’d been smart to tie him down; if he could, he would have wrapped his hands around Campbell’s throat.

Snake couldn’t help but remember the terrified man he’d rescued almost a year ago. He’d hated him then, hated what he’d done, knowingly or not. Not anymore, not now, not after… everything. The Alliance had used Otacon, had thrown him in the brig when he disobeyed their orders to help Snake, and yet now he wished they had caught him, if only to keep him out of the hands of the UFP. What they’d done to him… Snake remembered how scared he’d been that day, not just of the man with the British accent, but of every soldier they’d passed. Snake remembered how scared Otacon had been of him, even after they began working together. He wasn’t stupid. Though he never pressed his partner for details, he knew what that kind of fear meant.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His eyes finally started to focus. Campbell’s face was tight and grey, there were more lines there than he remembered. His rumpled uniform looked much the same, sad, creased.

“We need you.”

“You let them take him,” he accused. “If you hadn’t tipped off the Federation—”

“We didn’t mean for the Federation to find him. It was the last thing we wanted.” Snake hated how calm he sounded, how his low voice only sounded ever so slightly weary.

“Snake, listen to me—”

“Stop.”

Campbell’s mouth opened again like he was about to speak, but Snake levelled a hard stare at him and his mouth closed again. “This isn’t like you, Snake. You were always a soldier first.”

“Maybe I got tired of being someone’s weapon.” Under normal circumstances, he might have cared more about showing his hand like that. Under normal circumstances, Hal wasn’t back in the hands of the men who had tortured him and forced him to build a death machine.

“Isn’t that what you were doing with Dr. Emmerich?” Campbell shot back, his voice sharp for the first time since Snake had woke.  

Snake’s eyes narrowed as Campbell stood to leave. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I can see this is a bad time. I’ll come back later.”

Campbell left without saying another word, his shoulders ever so slightly rounded.

Snake lay back on the bed, the stiff pillow crunching under his head. He had to think. He’d fucked up, he’d fucked up so bad. He wondered if they’d ever had Miller at all, but then why couldn't they contact him? There were too many variables and it didn’t matter anymore. He had to get out of here, and he had to be smart about it.

He’d play along for now, get the lay of the land (find out where the fuck he actually was, first off). He’d find out where the UFP was holding Otacon, and when the time was right, he’d go after him.

The right time could not come soon enough, he thought, as two nurses kept blasters pointed at his back while he tried to take a piss. He didn’t blame them for their caution. They were both well trained and didn’t let him anywhere near close enough to grab one out of their hands. The only time one of them got within grabbing distance, he’d handed his blaster to the other nurse who kept hers pointed at Snake. He’d only relinquished his weapon so he could fasten the cuffs back around Snake’s wrists. Snake would have preferred if they’d gone with less comfortable magnetic cuffs and left him one hand free, if only so he could scratch his nose and adjust the hospital gown they’d stuck him in. Thin mint crepe was riding up dangerously high and the collar was twisted from when he got back into the bed.  

“What the hell is that?” he snarled when the female nurse approached him with a jet injector.

 

“A sedative,” she replied. She jerked her head at her male companion who grabbed Snake’s head with strong hands, holding him steady. What little fight he could put up was futile in the end. She pressed the jet injector to his neck and he was pulled down into a deep black sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Snake next woke he was no longer cuffed. He cracked one eye open a slit. He was in a cell — that much he could glean the moment his vision adjusted to the searing fluorescent lighting. He was also alone. A camera on the ceiling. No surprises there. He stretched his arms over his head and sat up, relishing his freedom from the restraints. He was dressed now, too: a pair of fatigues and a loose cotton undershirt. A clean bandage was wrapped around the burn on his arm.

The cell was about two meters wide and four deep, long and narrow with a strip of bright lighting overhead. It gave him more than adequate pacing room if he got antsy, which he was sure to if he had to stay in here longer than an hour. There was a tray on the floor near the door with a calorie-mate and a bottle of water. He only eyed them for a moment before consuming both. He figured they wouldn’t drug him again so soon. If they wanted to dose him they’d had ample opportunities while he was asleep.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he was moved from med lab, or since he’d been arrested. He would have to ask about the latter. He needed to know how long the UFP had been holding Otacon.

He sat cross-legged on his cot and chewed the calorie-mate. The bland bar made his mouth dry and his jaw ache. The cell reminded him so much of the one he’d once rescued Otacon from, all those months ago. Back when he was still ‘Dr. Emmerich’, back before… Snake sighed, crumpling the empty wrapper in his fist and tossing it at the door. It hit the metal with an unsatisfying tap and bounced back, rolling over to rest near the foot of the bed. He downed the rest of the water bottle, too, and it made a more satisfying thunk when the crumpled plastic hit the door. It skittered across the floor, bumping the metal toilet on its journey back to Snake’s feet. He tossed it back at the door and this time someone responded, smacking the metal with the palm of their hand. He was lucky they did because the water bottle had bounced back out of reach of the bed and at the moment, it seemed like so much effort to get up and grab it.

“Be quiet,” grumbled an irritated woman. He wondered what she’d done to get stuck guarding him.

“I want to talk to Campbell,” Snake replied.

“He’s in a meeting,” she snapped. Short temper, good. Snake hoped this was a regular gig for her. Someone easy to piss off would be a much easier opponent.

“Too bad for you,” Snake smirked directly at the camera. Most guards could access the video feeds from their tablet, he hoped she was watching.

“Why’s that?” She was trying to sound firm but nonchalant. It didn’t work, Snake’s smirk widened into a smile.

“Well, I hope his meeting doesn’t run too long,” said Snake, laying back on the cot, hands tucked behind his head. “Until I talk to Campbell, I’m going to be a pain in the ass for anyone standing outside this door.”

Leaning off the edge of the bed, he grabbed the crumpled water bottle again, tossing it at the door.  

It didn’t take long for the door to his cell to slide open. Snake had been expecting a woman, but he hadn’t been expecting one so young, or so pretty. Short auburn hair fell just past her ears — not field regulation, but she’d get away with it on base, especially looking the way she did. Shorter than Snake, with striking blue eyes, she wore a high-collared gray uniform. The gold bands around her wrists indicated she was a lieutenant. Snake had never attended the academy, enlisting as soon as he was of age, instead. He would have done well, he’d been told by former COs, Miller included. If he hadn’t been doing special ops, he might have taken the opportunity to go back. Too late now, he thought.

She tossed him a pair of magnetic cuffs. They slid across the floor until they came to rest at his feet, still bare. He snapped them onto his wrists and then allowed her to inspect them. Once she was satisfied, she led him out of his cell, forcing him to walk in front of her. She kept her hand on her blaster and guided him by telling him left or right as they hit intersections. Now in the hallways, Snake actually recognized the station as one that hovered in the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. Once, a long, long time ago now, he’d been stationed here. He’d been a rookie then, long before Big Boss had taken him under his wing. The tech had been upgraded, that much he could tell when he peered through office windows, but the halls were that same blue grey he remembered. The floor was just as cold on his bare feet.  

The Lieutenant led him to a small interrogation room, further away from the cells than he remembered. He wondered if the location had changed, or if he was just getting older, forgetting things. “Sit,” she ordered, pointing to the metal chair bolted to the floor, the one facing the two-way mirror. His cuffs clicked into place when he lowered them onto the table, tethering to the anchor point. It allowed him restricted movement; his wrists were no longer pressed together, but he couldn’t move his wrists more than thirty centimeters away from either side of the tether point. Once she tested that the cuffs were working, she left him alone, the door sliding shut behind her with a hiss and a click.

Snake watched the minutes pass in the mirror, the glowing red numbers of the clock reflected on its surface. Campbell arrived just under an hour after his guard left. He looked ornery, but his tone was pleasant when he said, “You ready to talk to me?”  

“I have to know,” said Snake, leaning forward on the cool metal table, his cuffs tugging at his wrists, but they didn’t pull him back just yet, “what are you planning on doing with me?”

Campbell leaned back in his chair, crossing a leg over his knee.

“Obviously you can’t trust me,” Snake continued, “and keeping me in the brig is going to expend manpower and effort I know you don’t have.”

Campbell paused, then sighed. “There are penal colonies on Mars.”

“Makes sense,” said Snake, nodding. “Tight security, and even if I did escape, I’d just die before I could reach civilization.”

“We considered the colonies on Jupiter as well, but they’re too close to UFP territory for comfort. Wouldn’t want them coming for you and trying to sway you.” Campbell’s tone was sarcastic and Snake wondered who he was quoting. “At first the Admiralty wanted you executed for treason. The President interceded on your behalf, god knows why after all the damage you’ve caused.”

“I see.” Snake looked down at his cuffs. Penal colonies… he’d been to one once, not as a prisoner, but as a guard. Rough, miserable places. It was hard labor, usually for a mining company, dangerous work that no one else wanted. The prisoners were rented out to independent contractors, free labor and they could cut corners on safety. No insurance payouts for criminals.

“They were going to send you there, no trial,” Campbell explained, looking down at his hands before meeting Snake’s eye. 

“Were?”

Campbell’s smile was thin but wry. “Despite what you may think of me after what I’ve done, I care about you. I was your CO for a long time. I saw what happened to you after Charon…” He paused, swallowing. “I argued on your behalf, asked for one last chance to negotiate with you, to see if we could come to a mutually beneficial agreement the Admiralty can trust.”            

Snake struggled to hide his surprise. He could only imagine how badly his escape must have reflected on the Colonel. Yet the Colonel was still willing to fight for him.

Snake had stood in front of the Admiralty before, after he’d killed his mentor, his father. They were old, hadn’t seen a real battle over ten years, almost twenty for some of them. They sat behind their desks and tried to bring Snake up on charges of mutiny. Not being trusted by the Admiralty was nothing new for him.

“What sort of arrangement did you have in mind?” Snake asked, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I didn’t know,” Campbell admitted, shoulders drooping even as he smirked, not unkindly, though. He looked old, older than Snake remembered, even from a year ago. The lines on his face had deepened, his jowls sagged, his body was softer. He’d spent the last year behind a desk. That much was obvious from the way his straight backed military training fought with his hunched posture; his shoulders squared whenever he remembered, before they sunk back down, smaller, rounder. This war would kill him long before the Federation had him in their crosshairs.

“ _Didn’t_ know?”

“When you woke up the first time, you didn’t ask where you were, you didn’t ask about Miller, the man you went to save.”

Snake flinched but forced himself to maintain eye contact. “I asked about my partner.”

“I have a proposition for you, and I really want you to think about this before you agree. I still have influence in certain circles. If you say no I can still help you, get you better conditions in the colonies. I might even be able to get you sent to a psychiatric hospital instead if we play our cards right.”

“Just spit it out.”

“Your partner is in a lot of trouble. He’s a liability, and I think you’re well aware of what happens to liabilities.” Campbell laced his fingers together but no longer looked directly at Snake, his gaze cast at the clock over his head. His jaw twitched almost imperceptibly, but he’d known Campbell for a long time.

“What do you mean by a ‘liability’?” Snake demanded, his voice low. He didn’t realize his hands had balled into fists until he felt the sharp sting of his nails digging into his hands.

“They don’t want him retrieved,” said Campbell softly. “They want him eliminated.”

Snake leapt to his feet, or tried to. The tether jerked him back down so he was bent low over the table, his fists slamming back down on the metal.

“Sit down and let me finish,” said Campbell, calmer than Snake thought the situation called for. ”I spoke with the Admiralty. We all agree the liability would be mitigated if you were to cooperate with us.”

“So what exactly are you proposing?” Snake asked, easing himself back down into his seat.

“If you agree to work with us, we can see that the mission to find Dr. Emmerich is a retrieval mission, not an assassination.”

“I don’t understand why you would want to take out Dr. Emmerich in the first place. He’s one of ours, and he could still be an asset to the EAM.”

Campbell shook his head. “The day he sabotaged REX for you, we lost a dozen MG units to the UFP hijacking and twice as many fighter pilots trying to retrieve them. We can’t risk losing numbers like that anymore, not just because one engineer feels sorry for you.”

Snake swallowed. It wasn’t an accusation, but it felt like his fault all the same that they lost those fighters, and that Otacon was in front of the firing squad now. “You think I’ll be able to control him,” Snake surmised.

Campbell raised his eyebrows. “It was a possibility the Admiralty considered, yes.”

“I don’t exactly have much of a choice. What exactly do you want me to do?”

The Colonel’s entire body seemed to sag with relief. He rested his elbows on the table.

“Only what you were doing before Charon, special ops, two man instead of solo, though. The Admiralty still doesn’t trust you completely.”

Snake nodded mutely. There was a hand squeezing his lungs. Back out there, back in the pilot's seat doing everything he’d had nightmares about for the last six years. Not with a partner he trusted, but for the men who had betrayed him, who he’d spent the last year fighting against. It was wrong, dirty… He wondered if Otacon would forgive him when he found out Snake would do it all for him. He wondered if Otacon would still want to have that… conversation.

It all felt so distant now, like it happened years ago, but even after all their avoidance, it hadn’t changed anything — at least not for Snake, not like he’d hoped it would. He still… well, he was ready to go back to the EAM for him. That said it all, really.

“Understood,” he said, when he realized Campbell was staring at him, waiting for him to respond.

“You’ll need to pass both physical and medical exams first, and a psych eval,” Campbell explained, sliding a tablet across the table, stylus balanced on the screen. “This is a renewal of your old contract with a few addendums. Take some time to read it over and have it sent back to me once you sign.”

Snake nodded, grunting his acknowledgement.

“I have to get going,” said Campbell with just a trace of regret. “I have to tell the Admiralty about your decision.”

“I have questions—” Snake started, but Campbell interrupted him.

“I have to go. We don’t have a lot of time.” Campbell stood, smoothing out the front of his wrinkled uniform with a weary sigh. Snake wondered how long Campbell had been awake.

Before he left, he stopped just behind Snake, resting a hand on his shoulder, Campbell's hands were cold and damp though the thin fabric of Snake’s shirt; his fingers trembled. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

Then he was gone with a hiss and a click of the door punctuating his exit.

Left alone, Snake pulled the tablet closer, scanning the document. The first three quarters were the same as his original EAM contract, mostly crap about how the Alliance owned him until the termination of his contract, either at the end of ten years or death or discharge, whatever came first. It was the final quarter that made Snake’s stomach drop. It stipulated that unless he was on a mission, he would be confined to limited areas of the station: his quarters, the mess hall, the gym, the showers. This would be enforced by a chip they would insert in his left arm. There was an explicit diagram below. There would also be heightened security on his nanomachines and additional monitoring, usually illegal for enlisted soldiers. He supposed they were making an exception for him. He chuckled darkly and tried not to throw the tablet against the wall. He had too much to lose to fuck this up with his temper. The image of Otacon hunched over a screen, knees pulled up to his chin, wandered unbidden into his mind as he signed his name on the dotted line.

The attractive lieutenant from before entered from the door Snake was facing. She must have been watching him from behind the two-way mirror. She took the tablet from him, calling a yeoman seemingly without a word. Nanomachines, Snake assumed. He wondered if everyone on this base had them now. She handed the yeoman the tablet, instructing her to bring it to the Colonel.

Her fingerprint released his cuffs from the table, snapping them back together at his front. Like before, Snake led and she followed behind, hand on her blaster. Snake knew where they were going this time when she told him ‘Med Lab’, and she didn’t have to instruct him at all; his feet remembered the way. He’d spent enough time getting broken noses and bruised knuckles patched up as a rookie.

He didn’t recognize the doctor who used a laser scalpel to dig a trench into his left forearm, inserting the chip. He sealed it and taped a little gauze square over it so Snake wouldn't’ have to look at the thin red scar, it would fade in time. The chip would stop him from wandering anywhere he wasn’t supposed to without an escort. Snake already hated it. Someone would come and see him in the next week to update his nanomachines, inject some new ones. The ones he got a year ago were dying off now, disintegrating, and getting flushed out with the rest of the detritus.

His escort didn’t speak to him even as she directed him to his new quarters — not a cell, since he was chipped now. She didn’t say anything until they reached the door. His nanos automatically interfaced with the lock and the door slid open for him. The station certainly had upgraded its tech. Had it really been so long?

“The layout hasn’t changed since you were last stationed here,” she said, her voice sharp but professional. “I think you know where you can and can’t go.”

“Nowhere I can do any damage,” he muttered, then frowned. Something about her, the familiarity in her voice, the way she spoke to him… “Do I know you?” he asked. 

“No.” Her brows knit close together and she averted her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Right,” said Snake. He watched her turn heel and walk with long strides, fast enough to almost be considered a jog. He frowned and saluted her back that was getting further and further away with every second.

He turned his thoughts from her as he entered his room. His quarters were small, basic, but private. A bed and a desk, grey walls. They even let him have a computer terminal, though he was sure his access was limited.

He sat down on the bed, crossing his legs to get his bare feet off the freezing floor. He picked at the cotton square on his arm until he could tug it off. He sat quietly, sticky cotton pinched between his fingers while he ignored the camera. He couldn’t quiet his mind; he felt ill and ill at ease in the new room. It would pass; it always did. He would adapt; he had to. He looked down at the raised red scar on his arm that the cotton swab had concealed. Right then, sitting cross-legged, alone in a room of his own, he felt more a prisoner than he had cuffed to the bed in Med Lab.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry not sorry, welcome to hell kids, the ride's only just started.


	16. Act One: Part Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snake has never been very good at making new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey so I'm still alive, kind of. I'm just going to slide this under your door and pretend like it hasn't been 10 years. Guess who is the best editor ever, yet again? It's the ever amazing and patient [Shell_and_Bone](http://archiveofourown.org/users/shell_and_bone/works)

Snake hadn’t spoken to Campbell in almost a month, not since his re-enlistment. It seemed the Colonel had better things to do with his time than micromanage the monitoring of an unstable asset. There was a war going on, after all. Despite radio silence from his old CO, he hardly felt like the old man had forgotten about him, especially when he discovered Campbell had assigned his very own niece to be his handler. The assignment was below Lieutenant Silverburgh's pay grade and Snake suspected there was more to it than nepotism. However, even after revealing their familiar relation, Campbell had offered no further explanation. Snake was still in the dark.

The empty gym echoed with the sound of Snake’s fists pummeling the hefty dummy. Snake’s teeshirt was damp with sweat and stuck to his back. He peeled it off, using the break to check the wraps on his hands before resuming his assault. He lowered his hands when he sensed a new presence in the room, the subtle shift of the mat under his feet that indicated an interloper.

“Silverburgh,” he grumbled.

Lieutenant Meryl Silverburgh hummed in reply, coming up beside him. She looked him up and down, taking in his disheveled appearance, and frowned.

“You haven’t slept.”

Not a question, so Snake didn’t bother replying. He looked away from her pursed lips and back at his target, entering a fighting stance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cross her arms.

“It’s been--”  _ thud,  _ Snake’s fist connected with the dummy. “Snake, it’s been--”  _ thud, thud.  _ “For the love of--”  _ thud,  _ and then a horrible creak when he hit it again as the bolts holding the dummy upright screamed their protest. Snake’s knuckles throbbed from the last strike and he almost cursed aloud.  _ Sloppy, you’re getting sloppy. _

“Are you done?”

Snake narrowed his eyes at her and said nothing, though he doubted she expected a response. Even after only a week, Meryl had adjusted quickly to his stony silences and irritable moods, returning them with harsh words and aggression of her own.

“You haven’t slept in almost four days.”

Snake ignored her, flexing his hands and stretching his shoulders. He didn’t mistake her words for concern. He kept his face impassive even as a hard knot tightened in his stomach.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

An observation. Snake’s mouth twitched downwards before he could stop himself.

“You’re not just hurting yourself by doing this,” she pressed, bright eyes boring holes on the side of his head. “You’re putting the lives of soldiers and civilians at risk--”

“Then I shouldn’t be here.”

He wouldn’t find any peace tonight. He began to unwrap his hands, leaving the tape on the floor where it fell.

“You swore oaths to protect this Alliance!” she fumed.

Snake blinked slowly and turned to walk towards the showers.

“Listen to--” She grabbed his arm and didn’t get a chance to finish when he grabbed her wrist and bent it backwards and up, forcing her to her knees. She took only a moment to recover before she tipped herself back, kicking out at Snake’s kneecap. He hissed through his teeth, leg buckling. He let go of Meryl’s wrist and she used the opportunity to kick out at his weakened leg again, trying to swipe it out from under him. He stumbled back, managing to keep his balance. Meryl lept to her feet, fists raised. Snake took two steps back, then Meryl advanced, jabbing at his midsection. He swiped her fist away, but she came at him again with another strike. Too slow--exhaustion had finally taken its toll and Meryl’s fist connected with his jaw with a blow that sent him reeling. He stumbled back, raising his fists to protect his face as she came at him again, and again. He charged at her with the intent to tackle her to the ground, at least grapple her into a position he would have the advantage of size. She was expecting him, but it didn’t matter; she didn’t side step him or try and throw him. Instead, she lowered her body and tried to slam right back into him. At half his size, she crumpled to the ground, Snake on top of her.

“Fuck you,” she snarled, twisting under him. Snake already had his legs locked around hers, her arms pinned. The man he was five years ago he might have made an off-colour remark and gotten himself slapped. He would have grinned and rubbed his cheek and watched her walk away. Maybe he would have called her some irritating nickname and when she glanced over her shoulder to retort or object, she would see him grinning. Maybe they would have had sex, not that night, but a few weeks later after another few rounds on the mat, exhausted and sweaty. She probably would have wanted to be on top and they could have wrestled for it.

Now all he could think of was how young she was, how angry she looked. It wasn’t just having been beaten--there was something deeper there, resentment, though for what, he’d have to wait for her to tell him. Five years ago he might still have tried, might have flirted and played the part of the devilish rogue. Now all he could remember was the way Hal touched him, a hand on his shoulder, fingers in his hair, a mouth on him. Hal’s panicked shout rang out in his memory every time he sat still, every time his blood stopped pounding in his ears and he was able to think again.

He let go of her arms, sitting back on his knees as she wriggled out from between his legs. He held his hands up in surrender, looking down at the mat, away from her snarling mouth and furious eyes.

“People are relying on you, Snake,” she spat. He didn’t look up and that made her angrier, so she continued. “There are people in the Alliance that still believe in you, still believe in the work you can do.” She paused and Snake lowered his hands down onto his knees. He closed his eyes and let out slow, measured breaths.

“What do you want from me? I can’t change anything.” The words were thick in his dry mouth, his tongue stuck to his lips. His throat ached.

She stood in front of him, feet planted firmly, spaced evenly apart. Her arms were crossed over her chest and when he did meet her eyes again, he could tell she was still angry, but it was somewhat cooled for the moment. She was appraising him, looking him up and down and she seemed to find him wanting since she turned her heel and walked away.

“You’re the hero, Snake. Figure it out.”

Snake slept that night, although it was not restful and he woke several times. The first time he thought there was someone in the door and he reached under his pillow for a gun that wasn’t there before he realized that there wasn't even a shadow. The second time he woke he smelt burning, and his hands ached like they had in the months after Charon, though the burns he’d received dragging his father’s dying body from the cockpit of his Metal Gear had long since healed, the scars faded away by dermal regenerators.

The third time he woke was the worst. He heard Otacon… Hal, calling his name and when he jerked awake, he blindly searched the bed beside him for the familiar body, though they had spent as much time sleeping apart as they had in the same bed. Maybe that was why he’d been so scared to sleep. He was terrified of those moments where he forgot for even a second. Reality setting in again was almost too much to bear.

* * *

“Please, have a seat Mr…” She glanced down at the tablet on her laugh and then chuckled. “Well, Mr. Redacted isn’t exactly a name, is it?”

“Snake is fine,” Snake replied, narrowing his eyes as he took a seat in the plastic office chair opposite her.

She was pretty, and young for a shrink. Her dark hair was tucked behind her ear along with her tablet stylus. She wore a smart pantsuit in cream and had a soft face with a gentle smile. Snake folded his arms and leaned back him his chair.

“I’m sure you’ve already been briefed, but--”

“You’re here to evaluate whether I’m sane enough to go back out into the field, right Doctor…”

“Rosemary.” She smiled. “You can just call me Rosemary. And yes, I do need to assess your mental health for combat readiness, but that’s not all I’m here for.”

“You’re going to tell me you’re here to help me, right?” Snake kept his expression impassive, even as he felt anger flare. It was an underhanded move, sending a therapist to spy on him, to pry secrets from him.

“While I understand why you feel persecuted, I can assure you that other than what is necessary for your deployment assessment, any details of what transpires in this room are strictly confidential.” She extracted the tablet pen from her hair and began to jot down quick notes. Snake couldn’t see her screen from where he was, but he’d get his hands on those notes one way or another.

“Sure thing, Doc,” he said, not believing a word of it. He immediately hated the way she smiled at that, then continued to write.

“Well, you’re going to have to trust me a little bit if we’re to get through this together.” Her eyes were sharp, but there was humor there too. “I’m going to need you to give me enough so I can sign you off for active duty.”

“You trying to get rid of me so soon?” he shot back.

“No, we just won’t be able to get any real work done together until this assessment stops hanging over our heads.” She leaned closer. “So tell me what I need to clear you and we can work on the rest later. Deal?”

Snake tensed, looking her up and down. She was half his size, slight and willowy. He could break her in two in an instant, yet she held more power over his fate than Snake could even hope to have. Otacon needed him--trust was irrelevant when she could give him what was necessary.

“Deal.” He nodded.

She extended her hand. “Good. Let’s get started.”

She looked at him expectantly and after a few moments he took her hand in his and gave it a firm shake. “The fate of the alliance seems to be in your hands.” The sharp look she shot him said that she didn’t miss the of bitterness.

“We’ll start with some basic word association,” she started, any hint of her previous scrutiny gone for the time being.

“I was never very good at this game,” Snake admitted, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

“It’s not about skill,” Rosemary chided. “There are no wrong answers here, Snake.”

“Just answers that get me sent to a penal colony far, far away.” Snake grinned but there was no humour behind it.

Rosemary let out a small sigh. “I’m not your enemy. These sessions are only recorded through my notes. No cameras, no one-way glass, so I’d like you to try and trust me, if you can.”

“Sure.” Snake licked his dry lips before gesturing at her to continue.

“Alright.” She nodded at him as if they’d come to some sort of arrangement. “I’m going to say a word and I want you to tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”

She cleared her throat and began with, “Dog.”

“Friend.”

“Snow.”

“Cold.”  

“Forest.”

“Green.”

“Water.”

“Drink.”

She was throwing him softballs, the words coming slowly. They’d pick up the pace soon enough, when she started asking the real questions. She’d try and trip him up, get him to confess something. Sure enough, the next set came faster.

“Fire,” she pressed on.

“Burn.”

“Wound.”

“Blood.” 

“Knife.”

“Cut.”

“Sick.”

“Weak.” 

She continued to pick up speed as the words became more specific.

“Work.”

“Fight.”

“Gun.”

“Kill.”

“Run.”

“Fast.”

“Home.”

“Free.”

“Protect.”

Hesitation. “Serve,” he said.  

“Friend.”

“Close.”

“Trust.”

“Who?”

“Fear.”

“Hesitate.”

“Trigger.”

“Pull.”

“Kill.”

“Stop.”

“Burn.”

“Pain.”

“Love.”

“Stop.”

“Hal.”

“Stop!” he shouted, gripping his armrests. He felt too hot, sweat beading on his brow, the air thick and stuffy. He realized his heart was pounding when he leaned back in his chair again, his white knuckled grip on the chair making his palms ache.

Rosemary watched him, her pen gliding across her screen as she watched him with a sympathetic expression that must have come from years of practice.

“What’s the point of this? What’s the point of these goddamn head games?” His voice came out louder than he intended, but at least it didn’t waver.

“I don’t like word association much either,” said Rosemary, leaning towards him with a conspiratorial smile even as her sharp eyes focused in on his face, reading every involuntary muscle spasm, taking her fucking notes.

“Could have fooled me,” Snake replied, calmer than he felt, able to collect himself a little better for the time being.

“I was given a list to go through with you. I would never push so far on our first session otherwise,” she said, and he thought she might have been going for ‘reassuring’. “I prefer to let you lead our sessions, but until we get through the required paperwork, we have to follow their rules. We both have higher ups to answer to, after all.”

Her rueful smile didn’t fool Snake, but she did have a point. They had paperwork to get through. Once the mandated stuff was out of the way and he was back in the field, he could say every unflattering thing on his mind. Until then he had to play nice, even if she insisted on digging where she didn’t belong.

“Let’s try some breathing exercises before we get back to it,” said Rosemary, extending the brief reprieve like a peace offering. Snake nodded and followed her lead. He could get through this, he just couldn’t let himself get caught off guard again. He took deep breaths in through his nose and studied his opponent, watching her watch him.     

* * *

A nurse frowned her disapproval as she ran a dermal regenerator over Snake’s raw knuckles. It felt good, the stiff ache of artificially mended fractures and the tenderness of new skin. He needed a shower, and a drink, but a shower would do for now since the likelihood of getting ahold of contraband without any friends on the station was pretty slim.

The nurse released him after giving him some instructions on proper care for his new flesh that Snake had every intention of ignoring. The heavy bag would be lonely without him, he’d joked, but the nurse hadn’t been particularly amused.

He found himself in the mess hall at first, grabbing food he wasn’t hungry for just so that he could say he’d done it. Rosemary had given him very specific instructions with regard to his eating and sleeping habits, namely that he had to fix them. He couldn’t even lie about it either, since the nanomachines would tell her everything she needed to know if he tried to pull anything. He picked at his food, not tasting it as he forced himself to eat.

It was hard to ignore the way the rest of the hall side-eyed him. Solid Snake, legendary soldier, or something like that. He didn’t exactly live up the the legend in person. Some of the stares were awestruck--younger marines, or those with low enough clearance that they didn’t know he was a traitor. He almost prefered the hard stares that came from those who knew better, or those who didn’t know the truth, but knew enough to be wary. There was a rumor going around that he’d sided with the UFP, but cut a deal to avoid execution.

When the stares became too much, he swallowed his pride and retreated to the only place he could find that no one would think to look for him. At least no one without clearance to access his location data. A series of high metal walkways in the hangar bay allowed maintenance crews easier access to Metal Gear units. At the moment, almost all available units were on stations closer to the front lines, only a few left behind: a handful of outdated models being refitted for action, and two REX units, awaiting pilots.

Snake avoided the attention of mechanics and engineers, too absorbed in their work to pay any mind to him anyhow. They had a hell of a job ahead of them, getting those older units in fighting shape. Snake could see the joints on one of them were actually starting to rust, a model that was out of use before Snake even joined the Alliance. He’d avoided newscasts as much as possible; there was little to be learned from them anyhow, other than what Earth wanted its citizens to think. The best indicator of how well the war efforts were going was right here, in this hangar bay. The mix of sad units that would be worth more as scrap said more than any newscaster could.

He ate what food he’d managed to jam in his pockets, a packet of crackers and a protein bar. His mouth was dry by the time he’d finished, tounge sticking to the roof of his mouth and he wished he’d had the foresight to grab water. It was a long climb back down.

Peering over the edge of the walkway on his belly he noticed most of the workers below were starting to pack away their tools. He’d been here longer than he thought if it was already close to 2200 hours. He’d wait for the last crew to leave and slip out behind them, no one would be any wiser. He rolled onto his back, shutting his eyes and listening to the idle chatter below, the echo of heavy boots on thick metal plated floors.

The walkway shuddered with new weight, vibrations drawing closer as the interloper approached. Snake cracked open an eye and peered at the intruder. Lieutenant Silverburgh was dressed casually in a tank top and sweat pants, her hair pushed back out of her face, the roots damp with sweat. A water bottle clipped to her side with a carabiner rattled against her thigh.  

She didn’t say anything as she approached and Snake wasn’t going to be the first one to break the silence. She stood over him, boot inches from his head, her arms crossed as she stared down at him. They hadn’t spoken since their sparring match two days ago and Snake could still see echoes of that anger in her tense shoulders and tight mouth. He lazily shut his eye again and Silverburgh sighed. The walkway shifted again as he felt her lower herself down to sit beside him, a clink of metal and something cool pressed against his cheek. He had to fight the instinct to reach out and snap her wrist, to pull the weapon from her hand.

“Do you want any?” she asked, the ‘weapon’ sloshing by his ear. He let out a slow breath.  

Snake accepted the metal bottle without comment, his violent instincts repressed for the time being. He sat up and unscrewed the lid, about to take a sip when the smell hit him.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. Silverburgh let the corner of her mouth twitch upwards, pleased, it seemed, to have surprised him. Her legs dangled over the edge of the walkway, swinging below her. She watched her feet rather than looking back at Snake.

“Genuine moonshine. One of the maintenance guys makes it in a supply closet.”

“And you just happen to have it in a water bottle you brought all the way up here?” Snake asked, taking his first cautious sip. It burned like hell going down. He tried not to taste it, letting it warm him from the inside out.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” She extended her hand and he passed her the bottle. She took a swig before returning it to his hand.

Snake didn’t need to know how she’d found him, whether she’d tracked him using his nanos or simply followed him, the more pressing question was, “Why?”

“Why am I sharing my shitty booze? Or why am I here at all?” She’d been expecting this then, her shoulders straight and stiff as she stared across the hanger at the Metal Gear with the rusted joints.

“I figured you were still mad that I’m not so legendary in person,” he growled, but there was no real anger behind it. Silverburgh glanced over her shoulder to give him a sharp look, her lips pulling back from her teeth as she opened her mouth to respond. Snake waited for an angry retort that never came. Her shoulders sagged and she looked back at the Metal Gear.

Snake took another sip of moonshine, angling the stream so it hit the back of his throat rather than touching his tongue on the way down.

“My uncle--Colonel Campbell, gave me a dressing down for my behaviour in the gym,” she said to the floor, eighty metres below.

“It was none of his business.” Snake passed the bottle back to her. She didn’t even wince as she took another swig.  

“You’re seeing Rosemary.”

The abrupt subject change almost made Snake drop the bottle on its way back to him.

“They have to make sure I won’t snap, betray the Alliance again or something.” Another drink. It had been a long time since Snake had had anything this strong and he felt warmth spread all the way to his fingertips. Silverburgh frowned and then turned her gaze back on him, her eyes bright and shining.

“You… what were you even thinking? What were you trying to pull?” She slammed her palm against the railing. “You’re not a traitor, so what were you doing?”

“How do you know I’m not a traitor? We fought the Alliance just as much as we fought the UFP.” He was greedy and snuck a second swig before passing the bottle back this time.

“We… you and your partner, Dr. Emmerich…” She frowned, staring at the bottle for a long time before taking her drink. “You spent so long fighting for the Alliance, why turn your back on us now?”

“Maybe  _ because _ I spent so long fighting for the Alliance,” Snake replied, reaching out for the bottle. Meryl didn’t pass it back, instead swirling the remaining liquid in the bottom, dangling it over the edge of the walkway by her knee. If she noticed his extended hand, she gave no sign.

“But after all this time… you just… you disappeared and then what? After one mission, fuck it? You’re done? Was it the machine?” She gripped the bottle with tense fingers. Snake couldn’t see her face well from where he was sitting, but he could tell when someone was trying not to cry. It was in her shaky, uneven breaths and tight shoulders. To her credit, her voice never wavered.

“The machine… REX, you know what it does?”

“I know it’s monstrous,” she said. “But people are dying, Snake, and if a handful of people can turn the tide of this war, if their sacrifice could save hundreds of thousands of lives… I don’t see how that can possibly be too much to bear.”  

It felt like an accusation and it hurt like a kick in the ribs. Silence hung in the air between them, thick and palpable, Snake stared at the back of Silverburgh’s head as she refused to look back. It wasn’t until the Lieutenant shifted as if to get up that Snake found himself saying, It’s never just about one grand sacrifice.”

She turned her head, sharp and jerky, frowning as if she wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken. Snake sat up, dangling his legs over the edge as well, forehead resting on the useless safety railing. It would be so easy to slide over the edge, it would be so easy to be pushed. He wasn’t sure if the dizzy rush was from fear or anticipation.

“So you think we shouldn’t do everything in our power to protect who we can?” Silverburgh demanded, her shout echoing in the empty hangar.

“What the hell do you think i was doing before the Alliance got my partner captured?” Snake snarled, gripping the railing above him since it was the only thing keeping him from doing something rash. He didn’t want to die--he couldn’t even if he did want to. Hal needed him now more than ever. That all too human urge towards a self destructive act was harder to control when he was so blindly furious and so fucking helpless.

“It looked a hell of a lot like you were trying to introduce a third front to the war, only you were only two men and some well placed semtex.”

“I actually like that you’re an idealist. It’s good that you can still believe in what you think is right.” Snake shook his head, the anger still bubbling in his throat even as he tried to let it pass through him. It wouldn’t help, not now. He could save it for the battlefield.

“That sounds like an awfully nice way of saying you think I’m an idiot.” Siverburgh ground her teeth.

“I really don’t.”

They lapsed into silence again. They sat still for so long that the overhead lights began to switch off one by one, leaving only dim emergency strips to light the hangar.

“It’s never going to end.” Snake was the first one to break the silence. “I’ve been there, I’ve done what needed to be done over and over. Every time it’s supposed to be the last time. Every time you think ‘this has to be it’. But it never is. There’s always another battle, a new enemy. Rioting workers, dissatisfied colonists, the UFP, it’s the same thing with a different name, and all we do is make things worse.”

“And how was what you were doing any better?” Silverburgh snapped. As she turned to look at him, the moonshine slipped from her fingers and they watched the bottle sail down until it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. In the quiet of the cavernous hangar, it was like a gunshot. The overhead lights began to snap back on and Snake squinted against the sudden brightness.

“I don’t know, but it was different and that was enough for me.” Snake let out a shaky sigh, “Hal… Dr. Emmerich. He knew we couldn’t end the war, but we thought maybe we could limit some of the damage.”

Silverburgh studied him with a scrutiny Snake wanted aimed anywhere but at him. Her eyes raked over him and Snake didn’t want to know what she saw.

“I don’t understand how you can think what we’re fighting for is pointless. We can’t just roll over and let these people bomb their way into power,” she insisted.

“At this point, Lieutenant Silverburgh, I don’t care who wins anymore. I just want it to be over.”

“How can you say that!? After everything, if the UFP wins, your victories were for nothing, the battle of Charon was for nothing!” She slammed her hand against the walkway hard enough that Snake felt the metal shudder.

“It  _ was  _ for nothing. Victory doesn’t mean anything if nothing changes,” Snake growled. He stood, towering over the Lieutenant who had to crane her neck to look at him. “I quit special forces because I couldn’t stay and find out what else I had left to lose.”

The ladder was far enough away that Silverburgh had a chance to find her voice again and shout, “Wait!” She clambered to her feet and jogged after him. Snake had half a mind to ignore her but he stopped at the top of the ladder anyways. She grabbed the railing next to his hand, not touching, but it felt like an intimate gesture nonetheless.

“You won’t lose him. Dr. Emmerich, we’ll get him back.”

Snake wondered just how much Colonel Campbell had told his niece and how much she had deduced on her own.

“I hope you’re right, Lieutenant.”

Snake was halfway down the ladder when she called out, “Meryl! You can call me Meryl.”    

“Right,” he replied, descending the ladder with sweaty palms. He could feel her eyes on his back as he left the hangar bay, though he didn’t hear her follow.

Her words  _ did  _ follow him, though, all the way back to his room where they bounced around his head like it was the tennis ball and the walls of his mind were solitary confinement. In his head, he caught the ball and turned it over in his hand.

_ “You won’t lose him,” _ she said again, her voice distant. 

“I don’t think I’ll survive it if you’re wrong.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to make any promises about when the next chapter will be out but my writing juices are reinvigorated for the time being so I'll update when I can.


	17. Interlude: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Separated from Otacon, Snake has some choices to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd since I just really really wanted to get this posted, but hopefully I caught any errors, if anyone sees any please feel free to PM me or comment. I just started film school so it's been kicking my ass but hopefully I can get back into the swing of things. This started as a single part ten thousand word chapter but I decided to break it up for the sake of my sanity and yours.

“Do you often have thoughts about hurting yourself or others?” 

Snake sat with his arms folded across his chest, leg crossed over his knee. Rosemary watched him with eyes that missed nothing and her scrutiny made Snake want to shift in his seat.

“It’s my job, Doc. I try and kill the other guy before he kills me.” 

“Of course.” Rosemary nodded. Snake didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on the fresh pink skin on his knuckles. Another bloodied heavy bag and another visit to the med lab; he’d gotten a different nurse this time, one who cared less about what he did to his hands in his spare time. 

“When are you going to clear me?” Snake tried not to let the apprehension show but Rosemary spotted it right away anyways.

“Today I think, if we can get through the rest of these questions,” she said, tucking stray hair back behind her ear as she leaned down to scribble more notes on her tablet. “Are you anxious to get back in the field?”

Trick question, Snake neatly sidestepped it. “I don’t like feeling useless.”

“I’m not sure that anyone does,” Rosemary replied. Her constant calm demeanor was nothing short of infuriating. She sat with a bland smile, poking and prodding, pushing him until he had no choice but to bend before he snapped entirely.

“Do you have any thoughts of hurting yourself or others outside of a professional context?”

Snake shrugged and met her eye, his smile lacked the sincerity Rosemary had perfected. “I can’t imagine why I’d want to do something like that.”

Her mouth was a grim line as her stylus glided across the screen. She glanced at his knuckles again but her next question was, “have your cravings for nicotine or alcohol subsided?”

Meryl had become an excellent source for contraband, and while she still refused to get him real cigarettes (though she didn’t deny she knew how to get them), she still shared her reserves of moonshine with him a few times a week and she made sure he had e-cigs to get him through the slow hours. There was only so much time he could spend on the treadmill.

“Of course,” said Snake

Rosemary nodded and if she wasn’t convinced she didn’t press the issue. She swiped her screen and her mouth twisted into a small scowl before she could school it into something more neutral. By the time she looked up at Snake again her expression was cool and unreadable again, her lips curving upwards in a thin smile.

“One last piece of business before I can clear you,” she said, shifting in her seat, her pen tapped a quick staccato on her screen.   

“Of course.”

“The admiralty needs to know if your personal feelings are going to distract from your orders.”

Snake’s hands ached with the effort it took not to ball into fists. Before the long string of curses could shoot rapid-fire from his lips Rosemary cut him off.   

“I told them no already,” said Rosemary, eyeing him with her even stare, “and I’m willing to conditionally sign off on your return to the field.”

“What are your conditions, then?” asked Snake, his eyes narrowing.

“I want you to continue our sessions together,” she said, holding up one finger, and then flipping up a second, “and I want you to actually talk to me today.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing this past week?” Snake frowned.

Rosemary shook her head, “you answer my questions, that’s not the same thing.” The corner of her mouth twitched up, betraying a small smirk. “You’ve seen more horror than most people can even imagine. I really do want to help you Snake so I’m making you a deal.”

“I tell you about my shitty childhood or something and you’ll let me shoot people again?” Snake felt a small amount of satisfaction in the disappointment on Rosemary’s face, but not as much as he thought he would. 

“Sure,” she replied, “something like that.”

“So what kind of deep, personal, secrets do you want me to divulge?”

“I think the most pressing matter first,” said Rosemary, swiping her index finger across her tablet. “Tell me about your relationship with Dr. Emmerich.”

* * *

 

The second pilot, the other man who could pilot REX and live, what nothing like Snake had expected. He’d pictured another weary warrior, a man like himself with lines around his eyes and real scars on his fingers. The boy in front of him could hardly be out of his teens, let alone in his twenties like the Colonel claimed. He was pretty, soft features and a downturned mouth that made him look like he was constantly scowling. He had silvery blonde hair, longer than regulation, but it seemed like dress code didn’t apply to the Colonel’s favourites. His eyes were striking blue with long pale lashes; he was beautiful and he made Snake uneasy.

He’d run into him on his way from the hangar bay. The catwalk above the vast landing strip had become his haven over the last few weeks, a place to steal a drink away from the noise and the stares. Campbell had waved him over and while Snake was tempted to ignore him, it would make him late for his session.  

“You can call me Raiden, Sir,” said the young man, saluting. Back straight, feet perfectly spaced, elbow sharp. “I’ve heard a lot about you, I’m honoured to meet you.”

He stood stiff, like he was waitin— oh, “at ease.” The boy, man, soldier, immediately relaxed, hand twitching and flexing at his side, fumbling, almost nervous. Oh. Snake extended his hand and Raiden took it in a firm grip, lips betraying a smile beyond mere politeness.

“I’ll be off,” said Campbell, “I’ve got business to attend to.” He nodded at both of them before wandering off, hands in his pockets.

“Right,” was all Snake could manage before nodding at the… at Raiden.

Raiden stared at him expectantly, hands clasped behind his back. Snake rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what exactly Raiden wanted from him.

“Where were you trained?” is what he ended up asking.

“Earth, sir, in the VR facilities. Top of the line, just installed a year ago.” Raiden’s chest puffed a bit, betraying his pride, “I’m the first to complete it with a perfect score, finished my examinations two days ago and was just deployed back here.”

_ Perfect score _ , a game. He frowned. “Have you ever been in a real battle before?”

“The simulations are perfect representations-” Snake waved his hand.

“Have you ever shot a live target, been shot at with real bullets?”

Raiden scowled, his pretty lips pursing. “No, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Snake’s fine.”

“Yes sir- Snake.” His earlier enthusiasm deflated, his voice lower. He didn’t avert his gaze though, shoulders still squared. The kid thought he had something to prove, that was for sure, he probably got ribbed for those looks of his. Cutting his hair might have helped but maybe he’d felt that would be letting them win, Snake knew a stubborn fool when he saw one. A kindred spirit, it seemed.

“We’ll have to talk another time, I’m running late.”

“Of course,” said Raiden, arm snapping up in another one of his perfect salutes, “Snake.”

Snake nodded. As he walked away he could feel Raiden’s eyes on his back. Even as he left the hangar bay, making a right towards Rosemary’s office he could still feel that gaze, raking up and down his back. There was something so calculating about those eyes, something older than his years that made that gaze cold and hard, even when his eyes shone with obvious enthusiasm. They followed him all the way to his appointment, though when he looked over his shoulder he found he was alone in the corridor.

He hit the comm before entering, even though Rosemary had said he could just let himself in if he was scheduled. It felt like an intrusion despite the invitation.

“Come in,” she said, her voice soft but clear.

She wore a blue sweater today with a high neckline, the long sleeves covering the old fashioned watch on her wrist. She had on her normal sensible shoes, black mary-janes with a short heel and a pair of sheer nylons under a grey pencil skirt. There was something different about her today though, a healthy glow to her complexion that Snake hadn’t seen before.

She smiled at him and gestured to the chair. “Please,” She said.

Relaxing was difficult to do around Rosemary, her calm voice and soothing manner had a way of raising Snake’s hackles quicker than any outright aggression could. It felt like being coerced. ‘You can trust me’ her voice said, ‘I’m here for you’. Snake had no idea how anyone could expect him to trust a woman he hardly knew, especially not one assigned to him by the very people holding him. The same people who used Otacon’s life as a firm grip on the leash around his neck.

He wondered, not for the first time, just how much she actually knew about his situation other than the scant details Snake had given her.  _ ‘I was taken here after an independant mission gone wrong’, ‘I don’t want to be here’ _ . And the details Snake had accidentally revealed when he was at his weakest,  _ ‘I don’t want to be here while he’s out there’ _ .

“You look different today,” he said before Rosemary could start their session.

She smiled, shy and private, her cheeks pinkening. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear revealing a small pearl earring.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked with a small laugh.

Looking closer Snake could see she’d done something a little different with her eye makeup too, normally almost unnoticeable today her lids shimmered with a darker colour and her lips shone with a thin layer of gloss.

“New boyfriend?” he asked, smirking. He leaned back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Old one,” she replied, “he just got back from training on Earth.”

“A military man?” He raised his eyebrows. She almost seemed too soft for that kind of life, a life of waiting, of wondering. But then again, maybe her degree would give her some advantage to fight the loneliness, the fear. Snake had talked to his share of widows and widowers, the partners of comrades who never came back from the front. He remembered so clearly a woman who’d said to him in the steadiest voice, “I shouldn’t be but... I’m relieved… it’s the not knowing, that’s what—.” She’d swallowed and walked away. Snake would have done the same in her place, strangers didn’t get to see her grief, that was something too close to share with these people.

“You seem surprised.”

She hadn’t reached for her pen yet so Snake felt safe enough answering, “I guess I just never thought about it.”

“You don’t spend time thinking about whether or not I have a love life? Why Snake I’m hurt.” She smiled her easy smile and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I knew you were too pretty not to have one, I just pictured you with a nice boy, maybe someone who wore cardigans.” Snake shrugged at her.

“I’m sure he would look handsome in a cardigan.” She kept smiling, the shimmer on her lids bright as her eyes.

“What’s his name?”

“Jack,” she replied, then uncrossed her arms, reaching over to grab her tablet and pen, “and I think that’s enough about me today.”

Snake put his hands back down in his lap, hunching forwards, “right.”

“Maybe we can start again where we left off last week?”

“No,” said Snake, quicker and with more force than he’d intended. “You’ve already signed off on me.”

“That’s right, so you don’t need to talk about anything you don’t want to,” she said in her  _ reassuring _ voice.

Snake grit his teeth, “I see.”

Rosemary tapped her pen on her screen, “what would you prefer talking about?”

“Anything else.”  _ It’s not yours, you don’t get to have that.. _

“Alright, well what about how you’ve been settling in on the station, Lieutenant Silverburgh was assigned to you, correct? How are you getting on with her?”

“We spar sometimes, it’s hard to avoid her since the only thing she doesn't watch me do is take a piss. May as well get something useful out of it.” Meryl, Meryl he understood. She was a soldier, she followed orders, she believed in the Alliance. She’d come into the gym once with the Alliance crest drawn on her arm in permanent marker, a circle with eight other circles around it like a ring, like a crown. Earth and the eight planets, well… seven planets and one dwarf planet.

“You don’t like being watched.” Not a question, Snake answered anyways.

“Does anyone?”

“I suppose it depends on why someone is being watched,” she replied, diplomatically, “for example if I were in protective custody, I would certainly want someone keeping an eye on me.”

“So is that what this is? The Alliance is keeping me here to protect me?” Snake couldn’t hide the way his lip curled up, showing his teeth. “From who exactly?”

“A bad example,” said Rosemary, though her pen glided across the screen, her eyes glancing back up at him as she tapped another period.

“What do you want me to say to you? That I’m grateful?”

“All I want is for you to be honest with me.”

Snake stared at her for a long time, she blinked but didn’t look away, her expression soft but unreadable.

“When have I ever lied to you, doc?”

Her smile was rueful and she looked back down at her tablet to make another note.

* * *

 

“I think we’re done here for today,” said Snake, standing so quickly his chair topped backwards behind him. 

“We still have half an hour left, Snake,” said Rosemary, her usual, unflappable self.

“Are you going to declare me unfit for duty?” he challenged, staring down at her.

She shrunk back a little but soon regained her composure, regarding him with an even stare. “If I have to, yes.”

“So you’re blackmailing me, I thought you already cleared me doc.”

“No, Snake,” she said, tapping her pen on the screen of her tablet, “I’m trying to help you.”

“And I told you it’s none of your business.” Snake slammed his hand down on the desk beside them, making the potted succulent rattle dangerously close to the edge.

“This is why your sessions with me are a mandatory part of your contract, you have a lot of unprocessed anger and grief—”

“Stop,” Snake growled.

“Snake please…” That chastising tone made Snake’s blood boil. He had to get out of here before he did something he’d regret, said something he couldn’t take back, before he gave himself away.

“Right now, you all say jump and I have to ask ‘how high’. I hoped you wouldn’t try and take advantage of that.”

Rosemary sat very still for what felt like minutes, watching him with a small frown creasing her brow. Finally she put her hands on her knees and said, “I think you’re right, perhaps we should end the session early today.” 

Snake didn’t even say goodbye, turning on his heel and walking down the hall as fast as he could without running. He could feel her eyes on his back and even as he rounded the corner to the elevators he could swear he felt them still.

He sagged against the wall of the elevator once the doors slid mercifully shut behind him. He sighed into his hands, raking them over his face and through his hair. He was shocked no one had insisted on a haircut yet, in the very back the ends almost touched his shoulders now, though the top did little more than get in his eyes if it wasn’t pushed back.

_ “Were you and your partner physically intimate?” _

Did she know? How much could she know and if so, how? Snake slammed his fist against the wall at his back, the echo reverberating around the empty elevator.  _ Damn.  _ It was none of her goddamn business, that was too personal, too private, even for his fucking shrink. Rosemary had to know he cared about Otacon… about Hal. Whether or not they’d fucked really had no bearing on the situation.

“Shit,” he swore, straightening his spine and unclenching his fists in time for the elevator doors to slide open. He left as three off duty men pushed past him in damp workout clothes. He stood in the corridor they’d vacated as the doors closed again.

It didn’t matter, that they’d shared a thousand touches, fingers and palms and wrists and shoulders gently colliding over months and months of partnership. Coffee cups passed, shoulders clasped, beds shared in rooms so cold Otacon teeth had chattered through the night, keeping Snake awake. None of that seemed to matter to anyone else but him.  He couldn’t take those feelings and condense them into a single night of desperate sex. There had been greater moments of intimacy between them that didn’t involve touch at all.

In his quarters Snake lay on his narrow bunk, one arm on his stomach and the other dangling over the edge. His mouth tasted like stale, recycled air and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, dry throat aching. He didn’t want to think about sex, he didn’t want to remember right now. He rolled over onto his side, knees knocking against the wall.

When he thought of Hal he pictured him cross legged on the floor in a motel on a frozen moon, hunched over a screen, a frown of concentration creasing his brow. He wore a sweater and then Snake’s jacket over his shoulders, his fingers were stark white poking out of fingerless gloves, his nose and cheeks were pink from the cold. In Snake’s mind Hal looked over at him and smiled, beckoning him over to look at something on screen. Snake would crouch behind him lean over his shoulder, cheek close enough to feel heat radiating from Hal’s neck, escaping from under the jacket. He adjusted it and Hal jumped at the unexpected touch, then relaxed against his hands. Snake’s palms patted firm on his shoulders and then he stood.

The memory was real even if the way Snake’s palms now tingled with remembered heat was not. He tucked his hands against his chest and forced himself to close his eyes and think of nothing.

* * *

 

The last week had been relentless. He’d begun simulation training with the rookie and it was obvious to both of them how out of sync they were with one another. While they were both swift and agile, Raiden’s movements had a fluidity to them that Snake couldn’t replicate, he was a dancer, and Snake had to admit he was impressive. But what Snake lacked in grace he made up for with speed and power. He was no brute, but he had a steady hand and a trained eye and it was clear that despite any inherent aptitude he might have, Raiden couldn’t match Snake’s experience.

VR was the worst part. Meant to simulate real battle to push soldiers to their limits before they were forced to face their fears in battle. It was wrong. Too shiny, too clean, battle designed by someone who’d never fought on the ground, who’d never watched a man be crushed under the foot of an enemy Metal Gear unit, who’d never had to hold a comrade to his chest while blood foamed at their lips, lying when he said that the medic was on his way, that they were going to be just fine. Raiden excelled at every scenario, top of his class he’d mastered all of these months ago. Snake could only stare as his gut clenched.

Exhausted from a day of watching men die too clean, Snake pulled off the VR helmet and climbed out of Metal Gear REX. Across the hangar he could see Raiden doing the same. He made sure he was on the ground faster, he was in no mood for Raiden’s hero worship today, and stole out into the corridor before the kid could follow. He nearly collided with Meryl who grabbed his arms with steadying hands.  

“Slow down there, where are you headed?” she asked. Her tone had become less hostile, less aggressive, one could almost consider it friendly at times.

“Kid wants to debrief probably,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the hangar.

Meryl smirked, familiar now with Snake’s dislike for anything bordering admiration. She slapped his arm and gestured down the hall, “after you then, I need to talk to you anyways.”

Snake figured the gym would be the first place Raiden would check, not that the kid stalked him or anything, but he did have an awful habit of showing up exactly where Snake was at any given time. He wouldn’t bother him per-se, wouldn’t necessarily come over for a friendly chat, but feeling his stare on the back of his neck while Snake jogged, or catching those sharp eyes out of the corner of his own while Snake tried to eat in the canteen… it was too much. Especially when he caught Raiden imitating him, trying the workout he’d been doing the day before, eating the same lunch. He wasn’t actually doing anything wrong, he wasn’t impacting Snake’s day in any way, it still made the hairs on Snake’s neck stand up, made him bristle.

Instead Snake led them back to his room, it was the one place Raiden hadn’t had the balls to follow him to yet. The kid had yet to buzz the comm outside his door and Snake was grateful since he didn’t exactly want to hit the kid but dear god if he tried to pull that shit he definitely would.  

He and Meryl sat side by side on his bed, her knee pressed against his thigh. She had her customary bottle of good old fashioned moonshine that she passed to him without comment. He took a swig but when he went to pass it back to her she raised her hand and shook her head.

“I think you’re gonna need it more than me.”

Sometimes Snake wasn’t sure he entirely trusted her but he certainly trusted that tone. He took another deep swig.

“What’s going on?” he asked, mouth and throat burning like he was swallowing paint thinner.

“It’s going to be today or tomorrow, can’t give you an exact time but I thought I should warn you.”

Snake didn’t bother asking what ‘it’ was. “We’re not ready,” is what he said instead.

“You’re as good as they think you’re going to get, UFP is closing in on Alliance bases near Jupiter, the Admiralty is pretty sure they’re going to try and cross the asteroid belt next.”

“How do you know this?” Snake raised his brow at her.

“I monitor my Uncle’s correspondence. I intercepted the message about an hour ago, I’ve been waiting for you to get out of VR training since.”

Snake shook his head, “it doesn’t make sense, a push through the belt would be suicide for the Federation. They don’t have the numbers to do it.”

“You’ve been out of the field too long,” said Meryl, fixing him with a grim stare, “there have been reports of mass recruitment on overtaken colony worlds, they may not be as highly trained as the EAM but they have numbers on us now.”

She was right. Back when Snake was still an Alliance soldier the Alliance had held Jupiter, establishing stations in her orbit. Those had long been abandoned as the Alliance lost control of the colonies, and had been forced to pull back to the belt. Snake was starting to feel a bit old, he could still remember when the Federation was nothing more than a group of malcontented rebels. He could also remember what happened as the Alliance had been forced to retreat closer to Earth, to consolidate their forces further and further back from the outer limits. He remembered the Alliance bases abandoned in enemy territory as the military cut their losses and left their soldiers to defect or die, not having the resources to pull them out before a Federation strike.

Yeah, he remembered it all too well in a way Meryl never would. She was too young to have seen it other than vague reports on live feeds, the PR department spinning a tale of brave retreat. Meryl would never know the same pain he’d known in the early days of the uprising as he’d been ordered to abandon comrades on the surface of barren moons in order to save his expensive Metal Gear from further damage. The Alliance had underestimated their enemy and its soldiers had paid dearly for it.

That last mission on Charon, a last ditch effort, a rescue mission. Big Boss, trapped behind enemy lines with some of the Alliance’s most loyal and brave. An effort to win back one base so deep into enemy territory. What a fucking joke.

“Hey, Snake?” Meryl was snapping her fingers by his ear, “you still in there?”

“Mnhm,” Snake grunted, “I hear you.”

“I know you think you’re not ready—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Snake interrupted, running a hand over his chin, sharp stubble prickling his fingers.

“Care to elaborate?” she asked, crossing her arms. It pushed her breasts together and it said something about Snake’s state that he hardly noticed.

“Raiden and I aren’t ready as a team, I think either of us would be fine on our own but together? We’re still so out of sync, and that…” Snake paused sucking in a slow breath, “that might be my fault but I can’t— I won’t be responsible for his death.”

“What?”” Meryl snapped, incredulous, “you think that since you didn’t feel like bonding with the rookie it’ll be your fault when he gets shot down?”

Snake frowned, “that’s exactly what I’m saying.” He ran his hands through his hair, covering his eyes with the heels his his palms, “I thought… I thought we’d have more time, I just wasn't ready...”

“You weren’t ready for another partner,” Meryl extrapolated, “I get it, I do. But that isn’t going to make it your fault if he can’t hold his own.”

“I want to believe that but—”

Snake’s gut curled in on itself as his computer terminal screeched at him in a high whine.  _ “All Pilots to battle stations, deploying in five minutes.” _

“Seems a bit dramatic for two pilots,” said Meryl, standing and smoothing out her trousers, “you’d better run.”

Snake barely had time to nod at her before he was sprinting down the hall, pushing past recruits and command staff alike. Most had the good sense to step out of his way but those that didn’t were shoved bodily into the wall of the narrow corridor.

He arrived at the hangar bay and was immediately handed his suit, Green and silver to match the EAM emblem. He stripped in front of the command terminal, not caring who was watching, out of the corner of his eye he saw Raiden doing the same. It wasn’t until he was on the lift, beginning the agonizing ascent up to the cockpit that he began to feel ill. It was months ago now, the agony he felt the first time he’d piloted REX and yet he could still feel that ache in his spine like it was merely days.  

It wouldn’t be Otacon’s hand guiding that needle in this time and he wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse. The cockpit was already open when he arrived at the top and inside techs were waiting for him, strapping him onto the pilot’s platform. It was the same as before, the slippery soles of his shoes gliding across the smooth disc, allowing him to control his movements, his arms and hands controlling the weapons. He’d done this so many times in VR now, but this time instead of strapping a bulky helmet onto his head a tech approached from behind, sliding smooth metal through the plug in his suit and into his spine. He hissed through clenched teeth, fingers flexing experimentally as the unit began to respond to him, began to feel like an extension of his own body.

The techs cleared out before powerup and Snake was glad for that. Otacon was still the only one who’d seen him cry out as energy was ripped out of him. It felt precious somehow, it was the only thing worth thinking about as he heard the low hum of the generators starting, as his console came to life and as the pain tore through his body and found its way out of his throat in an agonized scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next part will be up... well I just need to edit and I can do that today so would you guys rather have it now or maybe space it out a bit? Let me know~


	18. Interlude: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened to Hal Emmerich?

It hurt to swallow. Otacon cradled his arm close to his chest, resting his broken hand as comfortably as he could. It was tender and swollen; he wondered if they left him here too long, if he’d lose the use of his hand. He wondered if that was even the worst he had to look forward to. 

His cell was little more than a supply closet with a lock; he couldn’t stretch out his legs entirely if he laid down. It was pitch black and there was a drain in the middle of the floor. He would be curious to know if he was the first occupant of this cell, and if there had been others, had they ever seen daylight again?

He couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, hours, days? His hand throbbed. One of the bounty hunters had stomped on it when he’d reached for his tablet, crushing his palm against the tempered glass. Snake… Snake had been trying to warn him when they dragged him away.  _ Get out of there.  _ Too late, his fault. They’d pulled him off his equipment and he’d woken up here. 

He could smell his own sweat in the stale air, but there had to be a vent somewhere or he would have suffocated by now. The bounty hunters made it hard to tell where he was, if this was a ship, a station, UFP, EAM. Not that it made a difference. 

He kicked the wall, cursing. He’d known this was a trap, he should have known better than to trust the cameras, he should have warned Snake earlier. He didn’t even know if Snake was still alive. It was his fault. He’d already cried until he felt like his aching lungs would burst but that thought made him choke on a dry sob. He had to swallow bile, though it burned his throat and he could taste it in his nose. If he threw up now, he’d just have to sit in it until his captors saw fit to let him out. Or maybe they’d just let him die here. He wondered if Snake was still alive… and if he was looking for him. 

Snake… at the very least it had been the Alliance who’d taken him. Out of anyone, they had better motive to keep him breathing. He had to hold on to that. 

The cold from the floor seeped through his pants and the back of his shirt. He’d shivered uncontrollably at first, but either the heat had come on or else he was dying since that had stopped some time ago. He shook in his claustrophobic cell and bit his hand to muffle the panicked sounds his throat made. His voice didn’t echo, but every gasp was too loud in his ears. The only other noise was a low hum that could have been a ship’s engine or just an air recycler. He wondered if he screamed, would anyone hear him? Alone in the dark, his breaths came quick and shallow. He both longed for and dreaded the moment someone would come for him.

* * *

 

He desperately needed to pee by the time the door swung open. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and someone grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. He stumbled forward, only held upright by their bruising grip. He yelped as his arm was yanked back and he fell backwards against the unmoving bulk of an enemy soldier. 

Without his glasses, everything was a harsh blur. He was still blinking away the brightness of the fluorescent lights when a thick strip of fabric was pulled tight over his eyes and tied behind his head. They didn’t cuff him and it burned that he was so useless. It would have taken five of them to hold down Snake and he probably would have found a way out of it anyways.

Eyes shut against the pressure of the blindfold, he could see with perfect clarity the way Snake had looked as Otacon had helped him tighten the straps on his gear, Snake’s holsters tight across his chest, gloved fingers fumbling with clasps and buckles. Otacon had pushed his hands away, running fingers under the straps on his shoulders to make sure they were not cinched too tight. Fingers running down Snake’s back until they met the belt at his waist. He could have sworn he felt his hands shaking as he did it, but pulling away, they felt as steady as they ever did. He had a perfect unobstructed view of Snake’s strong back and shoulders, his calves and thighs, a body made to kill and to run.

When he stepped away, Snake turned around and put a hand on his shoulder, unlit cigarette (his last one) between his teeth.  

“You’d better come back.” Otacon hoped it came out lighter than he felt. 

“I will.” The corner’s of Snake’s mouth twitched upwards. Otacon had nothing to say to that.

“Here,” said Snake, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and tucking it behind Otacon’s ear. “Hold on to that for me. I’ll smoke it when I get back.”

And then Snake was gone. Otacon screwed up; the next time the door to their room opened, it was because half a dozen armed bounty hunters had cracked the lock and pointed blasters at his head. The last thing he’d said to his partner was a desperate plea for a response, any response, before his equipment was shattered by feet in heavy boots and he’d shrieked as his hand was crushed with them.

The cigarette was gone, left behind on the motel room floor no doubt, or stolen by an opportunistic mercenary.

He heard the slick swish of a door sliding open. He tripped on the frame, held upright by the grip threatening to yank his arm out of its socket. He was pushed into a chair, frigid metal seeping through his pants. When the blindfold was yanked off, he was still blinded and he squeezed his eyes shut against the harsh light.

“Dr. Emmerich, it’s been some time.”

Hal Emmerich tensed to flee before he could stop himself, the only thing keeping him seated was a firm hand on his shoulder squeezing bruised muscle.

He couldn’t speak. He didn’t even know if he was supposed to speak. His mouth was dry and tacky, and his tongue felt wrong in his mouth.  _ “Please don’t.”  _ His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Please don’t what? Be real? Hurt me again? And again? And again? Until he got bored or Otacon broke and gave him anything he wanted. Where was the brave man Snake claimed to know now? Otacon, a name to hide behind, someone he could pretend to be. Not now, not facing  _ this. _

Rough hands grabbed his wrists, clipping thin cuffs around them. When he gave them an experimental tug he, he found that each wrist was bound to a leg of his chair.

“Leave us.”

Hal couldn’t breathe and he almost reached out to the soldier behind him, to grab his sleeve, to stop him.  _ Don’t leave me alone with him.  _ He couldn’t see, couldn’t make himself open his eyes, but the room  _ felt _ emptier as the door slid shut behind his escort.

“That’s better.”

Footsteps, closer. His skin prickled as a hand hovered inches from his face. He could feel the warmth radiating off it. No glove, then. He remembered those gloves. His throat hurt from swallowing his fear, and holding back tears made it ache like being throttled.

Ever so gentle, he felt a hand at the back of his head, loosening the knot on the blindfold until it fell away, landing in his lap. He flinched away from the touch and a hand reached out to tilt his chin up so the man standing over him could inspect. He kept his teeth grit and his eyes screwed shut even as a thumb caressed his cheek. Bare skin on his stubbled chin, he could hear the faint rasp even as he felt each gentle stroke.

“You’re very resourceful,” said Ocelot. Hal jumped, not expecting the voice to be so close. His breath smelled like nothing and Hal could hear Ocelot’s tongue moving in his mouth, his lips were so close to his ear. “You and Snake avoided the two most powerful armies in the system for almost a year. I’m impressed.”

The grip on his jaw tightened. “You should look at someone when they’re talking to you. Didn’t your father teach you any manners?”

Afraid to obey, but more afraid of what would happen if he didn’t, Hal cracked his eyes open. The glare of the overhead light made his eyes burn and water. Ocelot’s face was too close, though it still blurred faintly around the edges; when he tried to turn away, strong fingers kept his head in place.

“Are you frightened, Doctor?”

“Let me go,” Hal wheezed. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“We haven’t asked you for anything yet,” Ocelot replied reasonably.

“I can’t--” Ocelot raised a finger to Hal’s lips.

“I know you can, and if what you’re trying to say is that you won’t…” The hand on his jaw moved lower to his throat and began to squeeze. “I think you and I both remember just how long you can hold out.”

“Where’s Snake?” he gasped, his voice thin and high. Pathetic, begging for Snake like that was going to save him.

Ocelot grinned, white teeth flashing. “With the Alliance, had to cut a deal.”

Hal couldn’t ask, but Ocelot answered his question anyways. “Everyone gets what they want. The Alliance gets their hotshot pilot back, and the Federation gets you.”

The grip on his windpipe finally loosened and Ocelot drew his hand away, pulling gloves out of his pocket. Red leather, not black latex. Hal could have cried with relief.

“I think the Federation got the better end of the deal. You’re a lot easier to work with than Snake, with a lot more payoff. If they have him in Metal Gear: REX, he’ll have, what...” Ocelot looked down, counting off on his fingers -- “five years as a regular pilot?”

“You were the ones who made me build it!” Hal cried.

“If we win the war before it kills him, you won’t have anything to feel guilty about.”

“Please…”  _ Stop, make this stop. _

“Please?” asked Ocelot, the edges of his mouth curling like burnt paper.

Hal didn’t say anything more, he couldn’t have, even if he’d wanted to. Every sound that came out of his mouth was as much a surprise to him as it was to his captor.

“Listen, Doctor. You’re going to build something new.” Hal’s mouth snapped open, but Ocelot’s finger was on his lips before he could object. “We’ve played this game before, Emmerich, and I won, I always win. Why don’t you save us both a lot of pain and just forfeit now. I’ll even tell anyone who asks that you put up a token resistance before I broke you.”

Hal shook his head. The pressure on his lips burned and the leather made a sticky sound as it pulled away. Hal was glad his body didn’t betray him even as his mind did, a mind that feared pain, that feared the man in front of him, a coward’s mind. Snake deserved a better man than that. His mind was what begged Ocelot to kill him now, to shoot him right between the eyes and let it be over. He wasn’t ready to die, but it was pain or betrayal and he knew which one Snake would choose.

“C-c-can’t, I can’t,” he pleaded.

“I know,” sighed Ocelot, and he almost sounded remorseful. “We’ll just have to go through the motions.”

There was a sudden swish as Ocelot pulled something thin and black from his pocket, extending the telescoped object with a flick of his wrist. The sharp electric zap as Ocelot tapped it against the steel floor confirmed what it was. Not that Hal needed a reminder. He remembered it all too well.

“Don’t do this, oh fuck, please don’t,” Hal begged, babbling, futile.

“I don’t enjoy this, Dr. Emmerich,” said Ocelot wearily. “It’s so crude, brutal, beating a man who’s already broken -- there’s no art in it. But we both have our parts to play, so let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The rod sliced through the air to crack and then sizzle on Hal’s broken hand. He screamed.

* * *

 

Crying just made his dry throat burn. Struggling made his wrists ache where they’d been cuffed to the legs of his chair. He’d already screamed until he was hoarse, until his cries became thin and then silent. Ocelot had left him alone and with no clock, no sunrise, no sunset. He had no way to tell how long he’d been sitting other than the dampness in his pants having long gone cold. He’d lost control of his bladder when he’d first been electrocuted and Ocelot either hadn’t noticed or more likely hadn’t been bothered by the smell. 

After an eternity, Ocelot had stepped back to admire his work. Otacon was a mess of sweat and tears and piss. He hadn’t even realized the low whine was coming from his own mouth until Ocelot covered it with a gloved hand. When he tried to bite down on a finger, Ocelot had just laughed and given his cheek a sharp crack with his palm. It stung, but it was hardly Ocelot’s full strength. It was meant to chastise, to humiliate.

Now, alone, his breaths came ragged as he tried to slow his pained gasps. He was choking on air and he couldn’t see. Any second now the door behind him could slide open and anyone could come through -- the sharp pain in his mangled fingers a reminder that this wasn’t over yet. It wouldn't be over until he gave them what they wanted. He’d already told Ocelot he was ready, that he’d do whatever they asked, if only he’d stop. He was sure Ocelot knew he was lying, but he’d put the baton away and left.

It felt like days passed by while he sat shackled, though it was probably only a few hours. When the door slid open again, it was almost a relief until the fear of what the intruder might do outweighed his terror that’d he’d been forgotten or left to rot. To his credit, he didn’t try to struggle again, though he couldn’t stop his body from trembling.

Hands skimmed his arms until he heard the quiet beep of a keycard at his wrists and the cuffs fell open.

“Get up.” The voice was low, with a thick Russian accent, but unmistakably female.

He stood to obey, but his knees buckled and he sunk to the floor. Throwing his hands out to keep himself from falling on his face was a mistake. He yelped in pain as his broken hand made contact with cold steel.

“Get up,” she repeated. A hand under his arm this time, helping him to his feet. “You stink.”

“I... I--” he tried to explain, but his voice came out barely more than a whisper.

“We should clean you up,” she said, starting off down the hall at a pace Hal struggled to maintain. “And then a doctor, for your hand.”

Hal could only nod, glancing over at his savior, no -- jailor, squinting to try and make out her features. He could make out short blonde hair, almost white, and broad strong shoulders, thick arms. She wore a tank top with a holster for her blaster and a pair of tan fatigues. Not Federation? Or if she was, she was out of uniform. Below small breasts, her belly curved out enough that the bottom of her tank top rode to reveal a strip of skin above her belt. Either she hadn’t been hitting the gym, unlikely considering her grip and the state of her biceps, or she was pregnant.

The few soldiers they passed saluted her. If they paid any mind to him, though, he had no idea; he couldn’t make out their faces well enough to tell. The woman nodded at them in turn, but never slowed her pace, Hal found himself stumbling over his feet to keep up.

“In here,” she ordered, buzzing open the door and shoving Hal through. The room was covered in cracked green tile. He could make out rows and rows of open showers and tall mirrors over sinks next to a long line of toilet stalls. His heart caught in his throat, it squeezed and squeezed and he couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe.

“Can you take off your clothes on your own?” she asked, pointing to his broken hand. She let go of his arm and as soon as she did, he stepped away from her, cradling his hand to his chest.

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t need to.”

“You stink. You need to wash.” She took a step towards him and Hal found himself backed up against the wall dividing the room, pressing into his back were the controls for the shower overhead.

“With you watching?” If anyone else said it, he thought, it would probably sound like a come on. Instead he sounded like a damn teenager, some awkward, gangly fourteen year old pissing in a stall instead of using the urinal.

She scoffed and hot shame coloured his cheeks. “You think I’ve never seen a cock before? You’re not my type.” Even if he couldn’t see it, he could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

Hal opened his mouth to stammer an apology, an explanation, something. It would be bad enough with her there, if someone else came in… He couldn’t do it. He shook his head and flinched at her frustrated sigh.

“You can either do this with me, or we will have to call in another solider to help you, and they will not be gentle. Modesty is your enemy right now.” A low bench lined the wall beside the door. The woman sat down and reached underneath, pulling out a towel and tossing it at him. He didn’t catch it and it fell to the floor at his feet.

“I do not care about your tiny, pale ass.”

Hal could count on one hand the number of people who had seen him naked since childhood. It made him feel tight and tense all over like someone had stretched his skin too thin over his bones and everything was jutting wrong and pulling at muscle and tissue. Snake had been different… he’d been… well there was no point thinking about it now. With shaking hands, he pulled off his teeshirt. Trembling fingers made even more difficult work of removing his pants one handed, but he did manage it, kicking them off with his shoes and socks.

He couldn’t look at the woman, not that he’d be able to see her face anyways, but he didn’t want to know if she was looking, watching. The thought felt like long nails on his skin, leaving red trails that burned. He turned on the water to wash away the sensation.

There was soap in a dispenser beside the knob. He applied it liberally to his body, especially his thighs and genitals. After hours in that cell, his skin felt sticky and itchy. Washing it all away made him feel a fresh wave of shame, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. He rinsed off the soap and turned off the water, wet hair dripping on his shoulders. He wrapped the towel around his waist, though it was damp from sitting on the floor too near to the spray.

The woman approached him, and he just had time to tuck the corner of his towel at his waist before she shoved a bundle of stiff navy fabric into his hands.

“Put it on,” she ordered, then gestured to the floor. “Someone will burn those.”

Hal nodded and unfolded the jumpsuit, stepping into it one leg at a time, only unwrapping his towel once he had it pulled up well above his waist. It was far too large on his skinny frame, the thick fabric was stiff and itchy on his bare skin. It seemed like the kind of thing a mechanic might wear. Zipping the front up to his neck he dropped the towel on top of his soiled clothes.

“No,” said the woman when he went to jam his feet back into his shoes. “No outside clothing.”

“Oh,” said Hal, looking down at his bare feet and remembering the cold steel and concrete of the hallways.

“They don’t trust you.” Though Hal couldn’t see her exact expression, he could hear the humor in her voice.

“Follow me.” She beckoned him back into the hallway, grabbing him by the elbow to guide him down a rabbit warren of long corridors he wouldn’t have been able to memorize even if he had his glasses. They stopped in front of a white door with a red cross on it and even blurry as it was, Hal was pretty sure he knew where he was now.

“You will stay here tonight. You will be watched so don’t do anything stupid.” She tapped her card on the reader beside the door, buzzing them inside. “I’ll come for you tomorrow and take you to your new quarters.”

Hal nodded and then, before his nerve could fail him, he asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Olga Gurlukovich, and you are Hal Emmerich. I am responsible for you while you are on this base, so don’t fuck this up for me.”

Hal could only nod slowly as the door slid shut between them and a nurse tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump.  _ Gurlukovich _ … The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

The nurse guided him to a bed, sitting him down and rolling up the sleeve on his injured hand to take a closer look. It was red and swollen, the skin purple around his knuckles and inflamed where Ocelot had struck him. Fresh bruises on old ones -- his fingers looked wrong somehow, but looking too long at them made him nauseous. As the nurse began to scan the bones with a handheld x-ray machine, he shut his eyes, letting the low hum of machinery and the soft murmur of voices from other beds distract him from his thoughts.

* * *

 

When Hal woke again, the pain in his hand was gone and there was an IV drip taped to his wrist. A stern woman in surgical scrubs checked his heart rate and took some blood without speaking a word to him. 

“Where are we?” he tried asking her. Her only response was a sharp jab to the crook of his arm with a needle that seemed too big for the job it was intended.

“What’s that?” was also ignored when she took out a syringe and drew clear liquid from a container beside his bed. Hal almost began to pull away, but she simply tightened her grip on his arm and stared at him with cool eyes and he went limp. Whatever had been in the needle didn’t seem to be taking immediate effect, so he hoped it was nothing more than a vaccine or antibiotic.

They placed a pair of glasses on his face, not his own -- those had been lost in the scuffle at the hotel room -- but his vision cleared and he was able to see well enough. They felt wrong on his face, the frames heavier than he was used to.

Olga, at least, kept her word. She arrived to collect him not long after his injection. She even offered a steadying hand as he hopped down off his bed, legs weaker than he expected. Her upper lip curled slightly as he regained his balance, but she kept her hand on his elbow until he was no longer at risk of falling on his face.

The floor was frigid on his bare feet and she led Hal along long straight corridors, the same slate grey he’d seen thousands of times before. It felt like every military base he’d ever been on was the same colour, no matter what side it was on. Despite being privately funded, the halls were clean and the paint was fresh. The soldiers they passed were well dressed in black fatigues and jackets. They lacked the crisp formality of the EAM’s pressed grey and green uniforms, but the functionality spoke for itself.

The last time he’d been a guest of the Federation, he’d been far from the action, a tiny moon that was little more than weapons storage. The soldiers here were a completely different class -- he could see it in the way they moved, the way they carried themselves, trained, organized. Even Olga, pregnant and relegated to guard duty, had the same air about her, the confidence of someone who knows how to kill.

When Olga finally stopped to pull out a keycard, Hal could barely feel his toes. The moment they passed the threshold, the door shut behind them with a quiet hiss. This hallway felt like a different world -- brighter, better maintained. The rooms were numbered and many of them had thick windows of blastproof glass, allowing Hal to peer inside. He was filled with a sense of wonder despite himself. As they passed rooms, he saw probably close to sixty people: scientists, engineers, chemists, and some he couldn’t quite pin down a field for. Most of them wore white labcoats and expressions of deep concentration. This hallway felt familiar, reminded him of his early days working for Earth Alliance Defence, the EAD, building security systems and… well… weapons, too. Yes, this hallway was all too familiar.  

They didn’t stop in any of the rooms. The end of the hallway opened up into a large common area with low and functional seating that reminded Hal more of a spaceport than a break room. On the far end of the room, there were synthesizers, a few long tables where harried scientists with labcoats dangling over the backs of their chairs ate, and a large clock with glowing red numbers that counted the hour, minute, and second. The walls were bare of any decoration, no inspirational quotes or motivational posters to be found here and for that, Hal was almost grateful. He didn’t know if he’d be able to keep his sanity if he had to look at a picture of a kitten clinging to a branch captioned with the phrase: “Hang in there”.

Hal got the impression this section of the station didn’t see much turnover if the stares he was receiving were anything to go by. At least he thought they were staring at him. Olga could just as well be the one attracting all the attention. She cut an imposing figure with her wide shoulders and masculine gait. The swell of her pregnant belly didn’t detract from that image.

Olga paused for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning the room. She didn’t look pleased, though Hal was not so sure he’d know if she was pleased, her face seemed to permanently scowl. She didn’t find what she was looking for since she took off again, her steps faster than Hal’s despite her shorter legs.

Crossing the room, Hal found himself walking down another long, clean corridor, though this one had more evenly spaced doors with letters on brightly lit screens rather than etched numbers. Initials, he realized, as he passed more. Some had as many as four sets displayed, though he was relieved to find that the door with H. E. only had one. Olga pressed a keycard into his hand and gestured to the scanner. After a moment’s hesitation, Hal pressed it to the pad and the door slid open.

Inside was small, too be expected on a space station. It had a bed, a desk, a toilet and shower, and some space to hang his clothes. If he had any clothes that is. There was a laundry chute on the far wall. He assumed someone had to deliver fresh clothes, otherwise this entire section of the station would smell worse than his college apartment. He shouldn’t feel grateful to Olga — she was the enemy, she was following orders to hold him here just like everyone else — but in that moment, staring at the tiny room that promised a moment’s privacy, his heart was full of it.

His heart burst and sank to form an icy pit in his stomach when Olga tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Ocelot wants to see you at 1200 sharp. Do not be late. He is not known for his patience.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! POV switch! I hope you guys enjoyed it... I'd always intended to swap to Otacon for this segment of the story since he's were all the good shit is right now. Act two will be entirely from his POV so if you're not a fan you're not going to like the next five-ten chapters (however the hell long this segment takes me). 
> 
> Again, school is brutal but I want to keep working on this even so, no matter how long it takes. Expect something sometime when I can. 
> 
> I love every single one of you guys and your lovely comments have been keeping me alive and motivating me to write! Welcome to Act Two finally, let's see if we can get to Act Three by 2020.


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